


no guilt in pleasure

by arysa13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22952071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Bellamy has barely seen his half-sister, Clarke, in four years, since their mom and Clarke’s dad separated for good. Now she’s back, and things aren’t quite the same as they were four years ago.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 27
Kudos: 252





	no guilt in pleasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loverosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverosie/gifts).



> happy late birthday mars! i hope this satisfies your incest cravings. <\- that's supposed to be a joke but i seriously also do hope you like it.

Bellamy lets Clarke scan the crowd of people waiting at arrivals a few times, looking lost and uncertain, before he finally pushes through the group of bored looking lackeys, holding signs with the names of the likely more important people they’re waiting for.

She’s got on a little yellow sun dress, and she clutches a cardigan together over her chest. Her skin is tanned from the sun, her blonde hair hangs in messy waves around her wide-eyed, anxious expression. She looks different. Older, taller. Her cardigan doesn’t really hide the fact that she’s filled out a _lot_ since he last saw her. And, being her brother, Bellamy wouldn’t notice that kind of thing unless it was glaringly obvious.

He hasn’t seen her in over a year, since she last visited. He always tries hard to avoid her when she’s in town, making Aurora pick her up from the airport, while he stays with a friend for the week. It’s not like she’s there to see him anyway. She’s just there to see their mom, and even then, he’s sure it’s only out of obligation. Bellamy knows she’d much rather be living it up in her fancy mansion with her rich friends.

And now she’s here, because her Dad took some six-month long overseas job and didn’t want Clarke tagging along. Bellamy is sure Clarke is going to _love_ slumming it with him and Aurora, after years of living the high life. But it’s not like he could say no to her. They’re family after all. Plus, their mom is so excited to have her back.

He can’t make her suffer for long, even though he wants to. Something in his chest tugs him over to her, and he puts his hand over hers, engulfing it where it’s clutched tightly on the handle of one of her two enormous purple leather suitcases. She jumps, pulling her hand away as she whips her head around to see who her assailant is, relaxing immediately when she sees that it’s just Bellamy.

He rolls his eyes. “Come on,” Bellamy says. “Airport parking is fucking expensive. I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.”

“Where’s mom?” Clarke asks, as Bellamy starts walking away, rolling the suitcase along behind him. He glances over his shoulder to make sure she’s following.

“As if you care,” he snorts. “When was the last time you even called her, huh?”

“Last week,” Clarke says defensively.

“Well, she’s at work. So you’re stuck with me. Believe me, I’d rather she was the one picking you up too.”

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience to you,” Clarke huffs. Or maybe it’s less of a huff, and more that she’s out of breath because her short little legs can’t keep up with his long strides. Bellamy stops, turning back, and Clarke almost runs into him.

“Give me that,” he says, exasperated. He takes the other suitcase from her, leaving her with what is no doubt a designer backpack hooked on her shoulders.

He starts walking again, and they head outside into the warm summer night air towards the parking lot.

“I really am sorry,” Clarke says. “I wanted to stay in California, but Abby didn’t want me there. I don’t think she really thinks of me like a daughter.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. He knows exactly the feeling. It’s kind of like how Jake totally abandoned him and his mom, taking Clarke with him to California, despite him being the only father figure Bellamy had known for more than ten years of his life. At sixteen, he pretended like it didn’t hurt. Four years later, he’s still pretending.

“And Dad wouldn’t let me come to Australia with him. He thinks it will mess up my education or something.” She pauses. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You obviously don’t care.”

They reach the car, and Bellamy unlocks it before lifting Clarke’s suitcases into the trunk, one after the other. It’s a miracle they both fit.

“I’m sorry about your step-mom,” Bellamy says. He’s not that heartless. “And God knows Mom is ecstatic you’re back. But I’m not going to lie and say I’m happy to have you here.”

“You would have been happy four years ago.”

He slams the trunk shut. “Things change.”

-

Back at the house, after a mostly silent drive home from the airport, Bellamy helps Clarke bring her suitcases to her room. It’s tiny, and devoid of any personality, seeing as Clarke hardly ever stays in there, but Aurora would never let him turn it into a study, despite the fact that his own room can barely fit his bed _and_ his bookshelf _and_ his desk.

The house only has three bedrooms, and one bathroom, much smaller than what Clarke is normally used to. She doesn’t complain though. Doesn’t even screw up her nose like he imagined she would.

“You got everything you need?” Bellamy asks her.

“I think so,” Clarke says. She’s still got that lost, uncertain look in her eyes. She’s a million miles from her home, her friends. Her father on the other side of the world, her step-mom abandoned her. Bellamy almost feels sorry for her. It’s obvious she needs someone to comfort her. She’s always been a tactile person, always needing the feel of somebody touching her to make her feel better. A hug, a shoulder rub, a hand squeeze. Four years ago, he would have given it to her without hesitating. Now, he holds back.

“There are leftovers from dinner in the fridge,” Bellamy tells her.

“Thanks.”

He opens his mouth, to say what, he’s not sure. Something comforting, maybe. That’s his instinct. But he closes it again without speaking, and leaves the room without another word. He feels wretched, and his heart is beating fast. But if Clarke thinks he’s going to be the same doting brother he was when she was twelve, she can think again. She’s here for six months, and then she’ll be gone again, and she’ll forget all about him, just like last time. But unlike last time, he’s not going to be heartbroken over it.

-

During the school year, Bellamy finds work tutoring high school kids, history mostly, since that’s his major, but occasionally other humanities subjects like English or geography. Since it’s still over a week until school goes back, both for high schoolers and for him, his only source of income is from waiting tables at a diner two blocks away. He hates it, and he can’t wait until school goes back and he can cut back his hours at the diner and actually do something he enjoys doing.

Aurora and Clarke are already up when Bellamy appears in the kitchen just after nine. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, and their conversation halts when he walks in. Clarke is wrapped up in a fluffy robe, though it’s already warm out.

“Shouldn’t you have left for work by now, Mom?” Bellamy says, opening the fridge. She works at a motel during the day, cleaning rooms. Last night she’d been at her other job, waitressing at an upscale restaurant. Bellamy might complain about the diner, but he’d take that over either of his mom’s jobs any day.

“Mind your business, Bellamy,” Aurora scolds him. “I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year.”

“If she had her way you still wouldn’t be seeing her,” Bellamy snorts. He pulls the milk out of the fridge and a bowl from the cupboard, and pours himself some cereal from the box sitting on the counter.

“That’s enough.”

“Just telling it like it is,” Bellamy shrugs. “No point losing your job over a daughter who doesn’t even care about you.”

He glances at Clarke, who looks away as soon as they make eye contact. She feels guilty. Good. “I think I’m going to go take a shower,” she says. “I’ll see you later, Mom.”

Bellamy glares at her as she leaves, and when he turns back, his mom is standing in front of him, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Be nice to your sister,” she says.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Why should I be?”

“She’s your sister. It’s your job to look after her. You used to be so devoted to her.”

Bellamy snorts. “She doesn’t need my _devotion_ ,” he sneers. “And she sure as hell doesn’t deserve it. She and Jake abandoned you. Left you with almost nothing except this house.”

“And they abandoned you too, right?” Aurora says, knowingly. Bellamy’s jaw ticks. “Bellamy,” Aurora continues, softer now. “She was twelve. She’s still only a teenager. She had no choice in the matter. Jake wanted to take her and I agreed because I knew she’d have a better life with him. Stop punishing her for the decisions Jake and I made.”

Bellamy doesn’t answer. She’s right, he knows she’s right. None of it is Clarke’s fault, he knows that. But he has to be mad at _someone_ and Jake isn’t here to be mad at.

“And as for Jake—” Aurora says. “I know you thought of him as a father. But you’re not his real son. He didn’t owe you anything.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bellamy says bitterly.

Aurora just shakes her head. “I better get going. Clarke should be okay on her own, but I gave her your number just in case she needs anything.”

“I’m not going to come rushing home from work just because the princess needs to go to the mall,” Bellamy scoffs.

Aurora gives him a scathing look. “She’s here for six months. You might want to think about an attitude change.” Bellamy scoops a mouthful of cornflakes into his mouth sullenly. “And don’t sulk. You’re too old for that.”

-

By the time Bellamy’s eight-hour shift is over, his mind is occupied by nothing except thoughts of collapsing onto the couch and playing video games. He’s not a serious gamer or anything, but he likes the mindlessness of running around shooting things. It’s not until he actually gets home that he remembers about Clarke.

He passes her room as he walks to his, the door ajar just a little. He stops at the sound of her voice, tearful and quiet.

“I just miss you,” she says. A pause. “I know, but I still miss you. Why couldn’t you just take me with you?” It’s Jake, Bellamy figures. He’s not surprised to hear Clarke wishes she was in Australia with her father, but it still annoys him. She doesn’t appreciate their mom enough, the sacrifices Aurora has had to make, while Jake never had to make a single one.

Bellamy knows he should continue on to his room, but he stays to listen.

“No, it’s not that,” Clarke says. She sniffles. “Mom’s great. I was actually looking forward to spending time with her. But Bellamy hates me.” Another pause while Bellamy assumes Jake is speaking. “He does,” Clarke says adamantly. “He doesn’t want me here.” She goes quiet again, and then, “Okay. Okay—I love you too. Bye.”

Bellamy quickly hops to his own room, in case Clarke decides to come out, now that she’s done with her phone call. He strips off his clothes then heads for the bathroom, though the shower is not as relaxing as he wants it to be. Aurora has a strict three-minute shower rule. Not that she’s home. She’ll already be at the restaurant by now.

He retreats to his room again after his shower, towel wrapped around his waist, hair and chest still dripping with water. He goes for his closet, stopping when he hears his phone ringing from the bed where he’d tossed it earlier. He changes course, picking up his phone and squinting at the number on his screen. It’s a +61 number, overseas somewhere. He considers not answering, but curiosity gets the better of him.

“This is Bellamy,” he answers. There’s a short silence before the person on the other end speaks.

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Who is this?”

“It’s Jake. Sorry, Clarke gave me your number, I hope you don’t mind.”

Bellamy’s stomach clenches and his nostrils flare. He’s not really in the mood to talk to the man who abandoned his mother.

“What do you want?” he says tersely.

“I understand if you’re angry with me,” Jake starts.

“I’m not angry with you,” Bellamy says. It’s not entirely a lie. He’s not sure that anger is the right word for it.

“Clarke needs you,” Jake says, ignoring Bellamy’s denial. “And I need you to take care of her for me.”

“Because you don’t think mom is capable, is that it?”

“No, of course not—”

“And why on earth would I do anything for _you_?”

Jake is silent for a moment. Bellamy almost hangs up. “I think your mom is more than capable. Otherwise I would have insisted on taking you with me as well. But she wouldn’t let me.”

This catches him off guard, only for half a second. In the next instant, he’s sure Jake is lying. “If you wanted to take me with you so badly, how come you never called or visited?” Bellamy snaps. He sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. Like he’s a child, desperate for his father’s love. And Jake isn’t even his real father, no matter how much he’d acted like it for twelve years of his life.

Jake sighs. “Aurora wouldn’t want me telling you this, but if it will make you take care of Clarke for me, I’m willing to risk it. Aurora asked me to stay out of your life, Bellamy. She was worried that if you knew I wanted you, you’d leave home and come and live with me. And then she would have lost both her kids.”

Bellamy is silent. He doesn’t know what to think, what to feel. Should he be angry at Jake, or at his mom?

“It killed me to leave you behind, Bellamy.”

Bellamy swallows. He rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He’s not emotionally equipped to process this information right now. “What do you want from me?” he mutters.

“Look out for Clarke, please,” Jake says. “She’s not great at making friends. And the way boys look at her—it makes me nervous. If they know she has an older brother who’ll kick their asses if they come near her, they might be more cautious. I just need you to promise you’ll make sure she’s okay. She thinks she’s mature, but she’s really just a kid.”

“Don’t all sixteen-year-olds think that?” Bellamy snorts.

Jake chuckles. “Probably. I trust you, Bellamy. I trust Aurora too, but I know she’s got a lot on her plate. And I’m sorry to spring this on both of you.”

“It’s fine,” Bellamy sighs. “I’ll look after Clarke.” Whether or not he believes Jake, the truth is his mom was right earlier. It’s not Clarke’s fault, and he can’t keep taking his anger out on her.

“Thank you,” Jake says, the relief evident in his voice. “I knew I could count on you, Bellamy.”

Bellamy hangs up and throws his phone back on his bed. There’s a timid tap on the door.

“Yeah,” he calls. The door swings open, and Clarke steps into the room. Her eyes are still red from crying. Bellamy swallows as Clarke stares at him. Guilt tears at his stomach for how he’s treated her so far, but he’s not quite sure how to apologise yet. He feels the towel around his waist slip slightly, and he quickly grabs it. Clarke’s eyes follow the movement, and then she’s blushing. He’s sure the last thing she wants to see is her brother’s dick.

“Are you hungry?” she asks. “I made dinner.”

His stomach grumbles, and he realises he’s starving. “Yeah,” he says. “Just give me a minute.”

Clarke nods and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Bellamy towels himself off properly, throws on a t-shirt and some sweatpants and heads out to the kitchen. There’s a bowl of spaghetti sitting on the kitchen table for him, but Clarke is nowhere in sight. He finds himself disappointed. He thought she’d eat with him.

He finishes his meal, put his bowl in the dishwasher, then heads for Clarke’s room. It’s time to own up to being a jerk. He hesitates before he knocks on her door. He’s never been good at apologising. But he works up the courage to knock anyway, and it takes Clarke so long to answer that he thinks she’s ignoring him.

“Come in,” she calls, her voice shaky. Bellamy turns the handle and walks into the room. Clarke is sitting on her bed, her face wet with tears, and a scrunched-up tissue in her hand.

“Thanks for dinner,” Bellamy says. He stands awkwardly in her room, not sure what to do with his hands.

“That’s okay,” Clarke says. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m just some moocher here invading your home.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, and his voice cracks. “I’m really sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t want you to feel like that. It wasn’t right of me to be mad at you.”

Clarke nods, and tears spill from her eyes. Bellamy is at her side in an instant, sitting down on the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms, crushing her head against his chest.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he says, stroking her hair. “I promise. Can we go back to how we were when we were kids?”

He feels her nod against his chest, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “I thought you were going to hate me forever,” Clarke murmurs.

“Impossible,” Bellamy replies. “I love you, okay? I’m always going to love you, even when I’m mad at you.”

Clarke lifts her head, a watery smile on her face. “Yeah?”

“Of course.” 

-

Bellamy stays in bed the following morning until he’s sure his mother has left for work. He doesn’t feel like facing her, or playing nice right now. Clarke, on the other hand, he’s actually happy to see.

“You feeling better?” he asks her as she pads into the kitchen while he’s eating breakfast. She’s in her pyjamas, these flimsy little pink things that leave little to the imagination. Not that Bellamy is imagining _anything_ like that in regards to his sister. But he can see why Jake is worried about boys looking at her.

Clarke nods. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m glad we’re friends again,” she smiles. “I really missed my big brother.”

“What are you going to get up to today?”

Clarke shrugs, coming over to sit across from him. Her silky singlet top dips, and Bellamy has to avert his eyes before he can see more than he’s supposed to. He should tell her to put some clothes on, or at least that robe she had on yesterday. She shouldn’t be walking around with her nipples practically hanging out.

“I might read, or sketch. Or both. Maybe I’ll go for a walk.”

“Be careful,” Bellamy warns her. Not that there’s anything particularly dangerous about this area, and she’ll be out in broad daylight. But the thought of her walking around the neighbourhood in her skimpy summer clothes throws him into protective older brother mode. It’s exactly the kind of thing Jake would want him to stop her from doing.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I’m not a child, Bellamy,” she says.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, a little defensively.

“Okay, I’m going to take a shower,” she says, jumping up, her top dangerously close to revealing her nipples again. Thank god she’s going to put some proper clothes on. She rounds the table and plants a kiss on his cheek, like she used to do when they were kids. It’s a lot less sloppy than when she was twelve. “Have fun at work. Love you.”

Bellamy smiles to himself as she skips off, and strangely, he’s still smiling when he gets to work.

-

Aurora is home when Bellamy gets back from work. It’s her night off from the restaurant, and she’s in the kitchen cooking, Clarke helping her.

“Hey,” Bellamy says as he walks in, alerting them to his presence. Clarke looks up and smiles at him. Their mom doesn’t even blink.

“I need you to go and pick Roan up from the airport tomorrow,” she says, not looking up from the pan on the stove.

Bellamy frowns. “Who?”

“Roan King. The boarder we’re housing, remember?”

“We’re still doing that?”

“It’s good money, Bellamy,” Aurora huffs, finally looking up.

“Where’s he going to sleep?”

“Your room.”

“And where am _I_ going to sleep?”

“Clarke’s room.”

“And where is _Clarke_ going to sleep?”

“Also her room. You can use the air mattress. It should fit next to her bed.”

Bellamy grits his teeth. “Mom, you can’t seriously expect—”

“I can, and do,” she cuts him off. “End of discussion.”

Bellamy’s blood boils. She’s kicking him out of his room, making him sleep on the floor of his sister’s room, for the two months Roan is staying with them. And sure, he and Clarke are on good terms now, but that doesn’t mean he wants to share a room with her, least of all on a shitty air mattress that isn’t going to be the least bit comfortable. And how is he supposed to get any _privacy_?

“Jake called me,” Bellamy says. Aurora made it clear the room situation isn’t up for debate, but while he’s still angry, why not bring up the other thing he’s mad at her about?

She eyes him warily. “And?”

“He told me you stopped him from contacting me. Is that true?”

Aurora flinches. “Of course not.” Bellamy can tell she’s lying.

“Fuck, Mom,” Bellamy groans. “How could you keep something like that from me? You knew he was like a father to me. I never would have left you for him, but it would have been nice to have some kind of relationship with him. You let me think he hated me.”

Aurora’s face hardens. “Bellamy, I made the decisions that were best for you. It’s got nothing to do with you _leaving_ me,” she scoffs. “You needed to learn how to work hard, something Jake has never had to do in his whole life. And as for not telling you—you don’t need to know everything.”

“Fuck you, Mom,” Bellamy spits.

“Don’t speak to me like that. If you’re unhappy with my mothering techniques, you’re free to leave and find your own place.”

Bellamy glares at her, his lip curled. Of course he doesn’t want to leave. He pays only a small amount of the rent and bills here. He can’t afford to live on his own, and any place he _might_ be able to afford is going to be much shittier than this place.

Knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, Bellamy stalks out of the room, fuming, the urge to hit something seeping into his fingers, making them curl into a fist. He slams his bedroom door closed behind him. Not that it will be his room for much longer. He stops, and takes a deep breath. He loosens his tight fists and sinks down onto his bed.

A minute later, Clarke creeps into his room, not bothering to knock. She stands by the door, looking apologetic, uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s not your fault.”

“If I wasn’t here you could still have your own room.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “I meant what I said before. I’m happy you’re here. I just don’t want some _random_ living in my room.”

“Maybe I could sleep in the living room,” Clarke says. “Then Roan could have my room and you could stay here.”

“I don’t want you to do that. And I think Mom has made up her mind anyway,” Bellamy snorts. “Without considering how it affects anyone else, as usual.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “I thought you like… idolised her,” she says, walking over and sitting beside him on the bed. She knocks her knee against his.

“Hardly. She works hard, and I appreciate her, but—she always makes decisions based on what’s best for her. Sure, she lets me live here, but if it didn’t benefit her, she’d be harassing me to find my own place.”

“So you just wanted to make me feel bad before,” Clarke says. “When you were acting like I didn’t care about her.”

“Little bit, yeah. I was mad. I’m sorry.” Bellamy slings his arms around her and pulls her towards him so he can kiss the side of her head.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m sorry too. I missed you so much when I left, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I thought the easiest thing to do would be to pretend like you didn’t exist.”

“That’s why you never called me, huh?” Bellamy muses.

“Yeah. Do you forgive me?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Help me move my shit into your room?” Bellamy says.

“Sure,” Clarke agrees.

-

Bellamy has an instant dislike for Roan. Maybe it’s his haircut (or lack of), or his stupid smirking face, or maybe it’s just because he’s here and Bellamy doesn’t want him to be here. He’s sure it has nothing to do with the way Clarke obviously checks him out as Aurora leads him to his room, or how interested she is in everything he says, even though all he’s saying is how crappy his flight was.

She seems to hang on his every word, and Roan certainly doesn’t hate the attention. Bellamy wants to remind their house guest that Clarke is only _sixteen_ for fuck’s sake, and Roan has no right to flirt with her. For now, Bellamy resolves to keep an eye on him.

Roan dumps his suitcase on the floor of Bellamy’s room, looking around, appraising his new living quarters. Aurora and Clarke watch him expectantly, while Bellamy hangs back in the hallway, arms folded sullenly.

“Is the room okay?” Aurora asks, nervously, subserviently, the way she talks to patrons at the restaurant she waitresses at. Bellamy curls his lip in disgust.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Roan says. “Thanks.”

“Great,” Aurora beams. “We’ll leave you to get settled in. If you need anything, just ask.”

Roan nods, and Aurora ushers Clarke out of the room, and Bellamy doesn’t miss the wink Roan gives his sister when she looks back over her shoulder at him. Bellamy scowls, something sour bubbling up in his chest. He meets Roan’s eye as Roan shuts the bedroom door, and Bellamy hopes his expression comes off as intimidating rather than sulky. Roan just smirks, and clicks the door into place.

Roan sticks to himself for the rest of the afternoon, and Aurora goes to work, leaving Bellamy to organise dinner for the three of them. He eats in silence, while Clarke and Roan chat about Roan’s life back in Canada, and why he decided he wanted to do some study in the states, and Clarke’s life back in California and how her dad is having a great time in Australia.

Clarke seems to notice Bellamy’s bad mood, and she glances at him occasionally, or tries to bring him into the conversation, but her efforts are futile. He washes up after dinner, letting Clarke and Roan retire to the living room, where he can hear Clarke’s laughter echoing into the kitchen. He slams a plate into the dishwasher so hard he almost breaks it.

He doesn’t want to, but he joins them in the living room. Only because he doesn’t trust Roan with his sister for any extended length of time. They’re sitting on separate ends of the couch, thankfully, and Bellamy sits in between them, closer to Clarke, so she’s pressed against his side, leaning over him to talk to Roan.

At exactly ten, he stands abruptly, and tells Clarke it’s time for bed. She screws her nose up at him, and it would be cute if he wasn’t still in such a terrible mood.

“Seriously, Bellamy?” she whines.

“You’re starting a new school tomorrow,” he reminds her. “Mom told me to make sure you got enough sleep.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but she gets up off the couch, throwing Roan a _goodnight_ , before stalking off to her room.

“I assume I’m free to stay up?” Roan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Do whatever you like.”

“If me sleeping in your room is going to be such an issue, maybe I should find somewhere else to stay,” Roan says.

“Like I said, do whatever you like,” Bellamy shrugs. “I don’t care if you sleep in my bed. Just stay away from Clarke.”

“Stay away from her?” Roan repeats, amused.

Bellamy gives him a look of distaste. “You know what I mean.”

“She’s a little young for me,” Roan says. “What is she, seventeen?”

“Sixteen.”

Roan grimaces. “Yeah, no thanks. You’ve got nothing to worry about with me.”

Strangely, Bellamy believes him. He still doesn’t _like_ him, but he believes him. He gives Roan a nod, then leaves the room.

He takes his three-minute shower, pulls on a fresh pair of boxers, then goes to Clarke’s room, knocking softly. It’s still technically her room after all.

“Come in,” she calls. She’s snuggled up in the middle of her bed, on her phone. She looks up when he enters, then quickly looks back to her phone.

Bellamy rounds the bed and stops in front of the blow-up mattress on the floor, squeezed in next to Clarke’s bed. His back hurts just looking at it.

“You can share with me, if you like,” Clarke says. Bellamy glances at her. He’s not sure if it’s weird or not to share a bed with his sister. They used to do it all the time as kids. Now though, the bed probably isn’t big enough for both of them.

“It’s fine,” he says. He sighs, picks his book up from the nightstand, and falls onto the mattress. It sags under his weight, and Bellamy can only hope the poor excuse for a bed lasts through the night, let alone the whole two months Roan is staying with them.

“Roan’s too old for you, you know that, right?”

“Oh my god, Bellamy,” Clarke groans, clearly embarrassed.

“What? I’m just looking out for you. Just warning you not to develop a crush on someone that’s completely inappropriate for you.”

“Okay,” Clarke says. “I won’t develop a crush on him. Can we please just stop talking about this?”

Bellamy smiles, his bad mood somehow dissipated in the last two minutes. “Okay,” he chuckles. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

-

The mattress manages to last through the night, but it doesn’t do wonders for Bellamy’s back, and he sleeps fitfully. He gets up early, careful not to wake Clarke as he pulls on a shirt and a pair of shorts, then heads out of the house to go for a run, ignoring his mother making herself breakfast in the kitchen.

Aurora is gone by the time he gets back, and Clarke is up making breakfast, showered and dressed in her fancy private school uniform. There’s a squeeze in Bellamy’s chest, somewhere between disdain and jealousy. But he’s also glad Clarke will get the opportunities he never got.

“Cute uniform,” he says, teasing, giving a little tug on her tie.

“Shut up,” Clarke says with a scowl. “It’s the ugliest uniform ever.”

She’s not wrong. Her plaid skirt is mostly dark green, with lines of yellow through it, falling to her knees, and the white button-down t-shirt she’s wearing seems to swallow her whole, the collar so high it looks like it might choke her. The ensemble is completed with a little green tie.

Bellamy grins. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“How did you sleep last night?”

“Shitty,” Bellamy says, rubbing his neck.

“You should let me sleep on the floor.”

“No, Clarke,” he says, exasperated.

“We could take in turns.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“You’re impossible.”

“It’s part of why you love me,” he grins. He bumps her hip with his, then grabs a banana from the fruit bowl and skips out of the kitchen.

After breakfast, and when Bellamy is showered and dressed, he drives her to school, as per Aurora’s instructions, though it’s something he would have done anyway. He pulls up out the front of the school, silently judging all the posh rich kids walking by, wearing the same style uniform as Clarke.

He looks to Clarke, her head turned away from him, staring at the front gates.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. She turns back to him. “Just nervous.”

“You’ll be great,” he smiles. He gives her thigh a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll pick you up after, okay?”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees. She leans over and gives him her signature peck on the cheek, before scrambling out of the car, slinging her backpack over her shoulders as she goes.

“Good luck! Love you!” he calls as she slams the door. He waits until she’s safely inside the gates before he drives away.

-

It’s easy for Bellamy to get back into the swing of classes. He’s missed it over the summer, missed actually doing something he’s passionate about. He still has a couple of shifts at the diner each week, but he’s also got a couple of high schoolers lined up to tutor on Tuesday and Wednesday nights.

He briefly sees his friends, Miller and Murphy, though they don’t have any classes together this semester, and they bully him for going radio silent on them the past week and a half, while Bellamy just complains about his current sleeping arrangements.

He picks Clarke up from school, and she’s waiting for him at the front gates, talking to another girl, and it seems like she’s made a friend already. Good for her. She waves goodbye to her new friend when she spots Bellamy, and hurries to the car.

“You have a good day?” Bellamy asks, as Clarke slides into the passenger seat.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “People actually talked to me so that’s a good start. That girl I was talking to, Josie, invited me to her birthday party.”

“That’s great,” Bellamy says.

She fills him in on her day as he drives her home, and as he listens attentively to her chatter, he suddenly becomes aware just _how_ much he’s missed this. Missed her. Four years of near silence, and now she’s back in his life, effervescent as ever, filling a little hole in his heart he’d forgotten he had. He forgot what it was like to care about someone. She’s going to absolutely wreck him when she leaves again. But hopefully this time they’ll keep in touch, and he won’t lose his sister again.

Her brightness is catching, and he finds himself smiling and his heart full whenever she’s happy. And whenever Roan isn’t around. The boarder is back from his classes already when Bellamy and Clarke arrive home, sitting shirtless on the couch, drinking a beer and watching Seinfeld.

“Hey,” he throws over his shoulder. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want some.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy says tersely. He’s not going to be won over by the offer of beer. “I have to work tonight, and I don’t know if Mom organised dinner, so you guys might have to fend for yourselves.”

“Fine,” Roan says. “I’m an excellent cook.”

“Of course you are,” Bellamy mutters under his breath. More audibly, he says to Clarke, “Make sure you do your homework and go to bed at a reasonable time.”

“Bellamy,” she says seriously. “You don’t have to parent me, okay?”

Bellamy huffs. “I’m just looking out for you.” Partly because Jake asked him to, partly because it’s just in his nature.

“I know,” Clarke smiles.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, and stalks off to go and get ready for work. Aurora returns with groceries while he’s getting dressed, and he’s glad his mom will be home for at least a little while. He still doesn’t _entirely_ trust Roan alone with Clarke. Just because he says she’s too young for him doesn’t mean he can’t corrupt her in other ways.

He calls out a goodbye as he leaves for work, and Clarke is too busy talking to Roan to respond, let alone give him the cheek kiss he’d been hoping for, and he storms out to the car, already in a bad mood before his shift has even started.

The customers do nothing to lift his spirits. He doesn’t know whether they’re picking up on his bad attitude, or if it’s just one of those nights where everyone has to complain about something, or take their frustrations out on someone who isn’t allowed to snap back at them.

Bellamy grits his teeth as he walks away from a table who has sent their “wrong” order back for the third time.

“Here,” his co-worker, Bree, takes the plate from him. “Why don’t you let me deal with them for a while,” she offers. “You can have the guy in the corner, he tips really well.”

“He only tips well because you’re hot,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes.

Bree raises an eyebrow. “So are you,” she says, flirtatious smile playing across her lips.

“Somehow I don’t think I’m his type,” Bellamy grins. “I think his type is pretty blonde girls.”

Bree bites her lip. “Maybe. And _your_ type?”

“I also like pretty blonde girls,” he says wolfishly.

“Hello?!” Bellamy’s rude customer yells across the diner at them. Bellamy’s brief moment of respite with Bree comes crashing down. They both turn, but before Bellamy’s eyes can even reach the shouting woman, he does a double take when he sees Clarke standing a few feet away by the door. Her eyes are wide, nervous, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Bree sighs, giving Bellamy a pained look as she does as promised, and attends to the woman herself. Bellamy gives her a grateful smile before walking over to his sister.

“Hey,” he says. “What are you doing here? Did you walk here alone in the dark?”

Clarke shrugs. “Roan bailed and I didn’t feel like being alone. Or cooking.”

Bellamy frowns. “So much for him being a great cook,” he says. “You should’ve called. You shouldn’t be out walking alone at night.” _Especially dressed like that_ , he adds in his mind, taking in her low cut tank top and short shorts.

“I’m _fine_ , Bell,” she huffs. “I just wanted to see you.”

He forces himself not to smile. But how could he be mad at that? “Take a seat, I’ll get you something to eat. What do you want?”

“A burger would be nice. And a coke.”

“Sure,” he says. “You want to sit at the counter?”

Clarke nods, and she takes a stool at the counter while he places her order with the chef and gets her drink. He places it in front of her, and she barely notices, she’s so busy watching Bree. It takes him longer than it should to work out _why_ Clarke is so interested in his co-worker. But then, he figures, it’s probably for the same reasons _he’s_ interested in her—she’s a pretty blonde.

“That’s Bree,” he says, and Clarke whips her head back around, startled, like she’d forgotten he was even there.

Clarke swallows. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Bellamy shakes his head, trying to keep his amusement from showing on his face. It’s probably hypocritical for him to be fine with Clarke having a crush on Bree, but not on Roan. Maybe it’s because he knows there’s no chance of Bree trying anything with Clarke, being possibly the straightest white girl he knows—and Clarke is obviously far too inexperienced to approach Bree herself.

“But you want her to be your girlfriend,” Clarke says.

“Not really,” Bellamy says. “I’m not really in the market for a girlfriend.” He’d definitely sleep with her, but he’s not about to let his little sister know that.

Clarke nods, seemingly satisfied. He doesn’t bother to let Clarke know he thinks Bree is most definitely straight. No need to crush her dreams.

“Is it okay if I hang out here for the rest of the night?” she asks.

“’Course,” Bellamy smiles.

-

He continues driving Clarke to and from school every day, and it soon becomes his favourite part of the day. There’s no Roan, no Aurora, no shitty diner customers. Just him and Clarke. Perhaps it’s odd that he enjoys spending time with his sister more than his actual friends, but as much as he loves Miller and Murphy, they’re kind of negative people to be around. He can only take so much roasting and shit-talking before he’s worn out.

He tutors on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, at the houses of the kids he’s tutoring. His home is already crowded enough with Roan and Clarke there, and it wouldn’t be the quiet, stress free environment he’s looking for. He catches up on school work on the nights he has off, his back and neck aching from sleeping on the floor every night, and exhausted from getting very little sleep for the same reason.

He groans each night as he hits the mattress, and going to bed isn’t the sweet relief it once was. Clarke offers to swap with him again and again, but he refuses. He’s supposed to be looking after her, not the other way around.

On a Friday night, after two weeks of sleeping on the shitty air mattress, and an eight-hour shift at the diner, he’s so exhausted when he gets home, he can’t even find the energy to get undressed. He stumbles into Clarke’s room in a zombie-like stupor, hitting his knee on the end of her bed in the dark.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He finds the mattress on the floor, and as he lies down, he realises almost all the air has escaped out of it, and he may as well be sleeping on the carpet. He groans, but he’s too tired to do anything about it now.

“Are you okay?” Clarke whispers.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Mattress is flat. I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“Bell,” Clarke says. “Just come sleep in the bed.”

The thought of a comfortable mattress and a good night’s sleep tempts him, and for once, he’s too tired to argue. He forces himself up, gripping onto the bed to help him. Clarke shifts over, and Bellamy crawls in beside her, falling asleep almost instantly.

-

She’s all snuggled up to him when he wakes up, curled up by his side like a cat, her arms tucked up between them. He should have guessed she’d be a sleep-cuddler. He does his best to slip from the bed without waking her, and without alerting her to his morning wood. It’s a little awkward to wake up with an erection next to his sister, but it’s not like it’s because of her—it’s just something that happens occasionally, and it unfortunately happened today.

Her eyes flutter open as he sits up, and he stops, looking down at her sleep expression as she clutches the covers to her chest.

“Sorry,” he says. “Did I wake you?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “Thanks.”

“Sorry if I took up too much of the bed. I’m used to spreading out.”

Bellamy glances over her, and there’s plenty of room on her side to spread out, but he says nothing about it. “It’s fine,” he smiles. “I’ll fix the air-mattress today and you can have your whole bed back.”

“Bell, come on,” Clarke huffs. “This bed is perfectly big enough to fit both of us. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep sleeping on the floor. Let’s just share.”

He swallows, considering. He knows she’s right. He can’t keep sleeping on the floor if he wants to stay sane.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “But you’ll tell me if you want your bed back, right?” Clarke nods. “Promise?”

“I promise,” she says, rolling her eyes. He smiles, ruffling her hair as he gets up, still trying to hide his erection as subtly as possible. If she notices, she doesn’t let on, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he shuts the bathroom door behind him.

-

It’s rare that he gets a whole Saturday off work, so he takes the opportunity to go to the gym in the morning, then heads to Miller and Murphy’s to hang out and play video games. Clarke begs him to let her come with him, but he doesn’t think his friends would appreciate a teenage girl hanging out in their apartment. He suggests she invite one of her new friends over instead, and she pouts, but she accepts his decision.

He doesn’t have to worry about Roan today, seeing as he’s made a ton of friends already, and they’ve invited him on some beach trip for the day. Roan did not extend an invitation to Bellamy.

Bellamy waltzes into Miller and Murphy’s messy apartment, and he can hear the two of them cursing in the living room. Bellamy is already glad he didn’t bring Clarke. She doesn’t need to be subjected to the pungent smell of men’s feet, and the crassness of his friends’ language.

He throws himself onto a chair next to the couch, where Murphy and Miller are sitting, engrossed in their game. Murphy quickly loses, swearing as he tosses his controller away, and Miller gloats triumphantly. Only then do they pay Bellamy any attention.

“Did you bring food?” Murphy asks.

“Was I supposed to?”

Murphy shrugs. “Just thought you might.”

“How’s the new guy?” Miller asks. “Is he hot?”

Bellamy scrunches a nostril. “I guess,” he says. Not that he has a problem with noticing another man’s appearance, it’s just being asked to comment on Roan’s appearance that he objects to. “Clarke seems to like him.”

“She’s sixteen, she’ll like any guy who shows her attention,” Murphy snorts.

“Not you, though,” Bellamy says.

“I want to meet Roan,” Miller says.

Bellamy groans. “Please don’t try to hook up with him.”

“Is he into guys?”

“I have no idea, and I’m not asking him because I have to live with him and I don’t want him to think I’m into him.”

“That’s homophobic,” Miller says.

“Shut up,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes at Miller’s smirk. “Anyway, he’s still the worst and I don’t want him in my house.”

“You’re just sick of sleeping on the floor,” Murphy points out.

“Can you blame me?” Bellamy huffs. He doesn’t tell them about his new plan to just share Clarke’s bed. He’s not sure why. Perhaps he’s afraid they might think it’s weird.

“I mean, you could always move in with us,” Miller says. “Offer’s still open.”

Bellamy twists his mouth. For some reason, the offer seems even less appealing now than it did a year ago when they first presented it to him. He really does love the guys, but living with them seems like a nightmare. He much prefers living with women, who actually have some basic hygiene practices. Plus, moving in with them would mean paying more rent, something he’s still not willing to do yet, not until he finishes college and is working full time as a teacher.

“Pass,” he says. “It’s only for a couple of months. Roan will probably get bored of us before then anyway and move in with one of his new friends.” 

“Whatever, man,” Murphy scowls, clearly offended. “It’s your loss.”

“Just give me a controller so I can kick your ass, will you?”

-

When Bellamy arrives home in the late afternoon, the girl Bellamy had seen Clarke talking to on Monday after school is there. Josie, if he remembers correctly. Roan’s back from the beach too. They’re in the kitchen, Clarke rummaging around in the fridge for a snack, her tiny little shorts riding too far up her ass. Bellamy glances at Roan to see if he’s noticed, but he’s focused on showing Josie something on his phone. It solidifies Bellamy’s belief that Roan was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t interested in Clarke.

“Hey,” Bellamy says. The three of them look up at him. He runs his hand along Clarke’s back as he brushes past her to get to a cup. “What are you guys up to? I’m Bellamy, by the way,” he gives Josie a nod.

“Josie,” she returns, giving him an unmistakably flirtatious smile. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, amused.

Clarke shuts the fridge. “Do we have any chocolate?”

Bellamy turns his attention to Clarke, but he can still feel Josie’s eyes on him, looking him up and down. “Don’t think so,” he says. “I think there are cookies though.”

He goes to the pantry and pulls out a box of choc-chip cookies. She reaches for them, but he pulls them out of her reach, just because he can, grinning as she falls into him.

“Very funny,” she says, poking out her tongue. Bellamy grins harder. He hands her the cookies, then puts a kiss on the top of her head, before turning to the sink to fill his cup with water.

He can feel eyes on him, and he glances over to see Roan watching him curiously, while the girls devour the packet of cookies. He raises an eyebrow at Roan, as if to say, _have you got a problem_? Roan shrugs, and gets up and saunters out of the room.

Bellamy takes a sip from his cup, then makes to leave the kitchen too, figuring he’ll take the opportunity to have the bedroom he’s sharing with Clarke to himself for a while. He steals a cookie on his way past.

“Your brother is so hot,” Josie says as Bellamy leaves the room, obviously _trying_ to whisper, but not succeeding.

“You can’t have him,” Clarke says, and Bellamy pauses outside the door, listening. The heat behind Clarke’s words surprises him, makes his stomach twist in a way he can’t quite explain.

“Why not?” Josie huffs.

“It’s too weird if you date my brother,” Clarke says. “And besides, he’d never go for someone our age.”

“Whatever,” Josie sings. “There are plenty of other college guys who will go for me. We just have to convince your brother to take us to a party.”

Bellamy stops listening then, rolling his eyes as he walks away. Taking his little sister to a college party, where there will be hoards of drunk, horny college guys, with much looser morals than he has? Yeah, there’s no way that’s happening.

-

There’s no hesitation when he crawls into bed beside her that night. He hasn’t bothered to inflate the air mattress, and the thought of going back to sleeping on it makes him nauseous. He manages to get undressed this time, although he keeps his shirt on, because there’s something weird about the thought of being almost naked in bed with her, especially when _her_ pyjamas are so tiny, and the whole snuggling thing.

“What do you think of Josie?” Clarke asks, already pressed against his side, not even pretending like she’s going to stick to her side.

“She seems nice,” Bellamy says, absently stroking Clarke’s back as he scrolls on his phone with his other hand.

“But do you think she’s pretty?” Clarke presses.

He puts his phone down to look at her. “Clarke, come on, she’s sixteen,” Bellamy huffs. “I’m not—I would never go there.”

Clarke chews her lip. “That’s not what I asked. You’re not _blind_. Is she pretty?”

“I mean—” Bellamy thinks. He hadn’t really taken much notice of Josie’s looks at the time, and he tries to conjure up an image of her, if only to placate Clarke. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Is she prettier than me?”

Bellamy chokes at the question. “How should I know? You’re my sister,” he huffs. He doesn’t know why he’s blushing, or why he’s lying. Of course Clarke is prettier than Josie. He _would_ have to be blind not to see it. “Why are you even asking?”

Clarke shrugs. “She keeps making all these comments about my looks,” she says. “Like comparing me to her and giving me backhanded compliments.”

Anger bubbles up inside him. “Clarke, if she’s saying stuff like that, she doesn’t sound like much of a friend. Maybe you should find someone else to be friends with.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“She sounds that bad.”

“I made it sound worse than it is,” Clarke says.

Bellamy’s mouth forms a tight line, and he remains unconvinced. “At least—don’t take what she says to heart. She’s probably just insecure. Any fool can see you’re gorgeous.”

Clarke smiles. “Oh yeah?” she says. “What happened to _you’re my sister_?” she laughs, putting on a deep voice as she imitates him.

He groans. “God, you’re annoying,” he says. “You got a compliment out of me, are you happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she grins.

“Go to sleep, Clarke,” he says.

“Love you,” she whispers.

She falls asleep before he does, and it takes him a while to follow suit. He can’t stop replaying their conversation over in his head, feeling oddly sick in his stomach, though he’s sure he didn’t offend her. In fact, he thinks he said exactly what she wanted to hear. So why does something feel so wrong?

He must fall asleep eventually, because when he wakes, he’s got Clarke in his arms, his chest against her back. And he’s hard again. God, that needs to stop before something embarrassing happens.

But it’s not like he’s got any opportunity to quickly jerk off. Not even in the shower, because if he takes a second longer than the allocated three minutes, someone—namely, his mom—will come banging on the door. He thinks he _could_ potentially get off in three minutes, but the possibility of _almost_ getting there, but not quite, seems worse than just doing nothing about it at all.

He probably just needs to get laid.

He gets up, managing not to wake Clarke this time as he hops out of bed, hand on his erection.

-

Roan puts a movie on that night, and Bellamy begrudgingly stays up to watch, because Clarke asks him to. She cuddles up to him on the couch, between him and Roan. It’s comforting, to have her beside him like that, on purpose, and not just in her sleep. It gives him hope that when she leaves again in six months, things won’t go back to how they were before.

It’s also a little awkward, because he’s very conscious of her soft breasts pressed against his side, and also what he’s sure is a completely unrelated erection. He keeps a cushion on his lap to hide the fact. Yeah, he really, _really_ needs to get laid.

Halfway through _We’re the Millers_ , Clarke’s phone rings.

“It’s Dad,” she says as she answers. “Hi, Dad,” she says into the phone, smiling as she jumps up from the couch. She chats to him happily as she leaves the room, and Roan pauses the movie. He glances at the cushion on Bellamy’s lap.

“Ah, the old cushion over the crotch trick,” Roan says.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’m not blaming you. Jennifer Aniston is hot.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees.

Roan glances over the back of the couch, and Bellamy does the same, both of them waiting for Clarke to come back so they don’t have to speak to each other.

“Or was it the scene where the kid kisses his fake sister that got you going?”

“Excuse me?”

Roan shrugs. “Nothing.” He glances back again, looking out for Clarke. “Do you think she’ll be a while?”

“Probably,” Bellamy says. “It is her dad after all.”

Roan hits play on the movie.

-

If Bellamy is being honest, he never really liked sharing a bed with someone else before. He didn’t mind Clarke sneaking into his bed when they were kids, but whenever he has a girl stay over, he always kind of finds himself wishing he had the bed to himself. But with Clarke he’s starting to realise how nice it is to not wake up alone. Perhaps one day he will settle down after all.

She’s wrapped in his arms again, snuggled against his side, and Bellamy lies there for a moment, letting himself bask in the morning sun that’s creeping in through the blinds he forgot to close last night. He turns his head and presses a kiss to her forehead before he gently slides out of her arms.

She groans, but she doesn’t open her eyes as he pushes the covers away. He watches her fondly as she rolls onto her back. The movement causes her little silk pyjama top to shift, and her nipples slip into view.

Bellamy freezes, his heart pounding as he stares at her tits, almost entirely on display now. God, they’re so big, and her pyjama top is so tiny, it’s a miracle this is the first time it’s happened. He should look away. But she looks so pretty, lying there with her nipples all pebbled and pink and exposed to him.

His already hard cock throbs. He should feel disgusted, or embarrassed, at the sight of his sister’s tits, but all he can think about is leaning over and sucking one of her nipples into his mouth.

_Fuck_. He jumps up from the bed like he’s been stung. A sick feeling seeps into his stomach as he banishes the repulsive thoughts from his head. It’s not like they mean anything. It’s not like he _actually_ wants to do that to her. It was just one of those thoughts that pops into your head, because brains are stupid, and they’ll conjure up all kinds of weird shit. He reassures himself with that notion.

Of course, it doesn’t help that he hasn’t had sex in ages, and that Clarke has the best pair of tits he’s seen in his life. He groans, realising he should not even be noticing something like that. He desperately needs to get laid. Or at least find some alone time to masturbate.

He swallows, resolving that he’ll find a hook up sometime this week. Bree, maybe. He’s just sexually frustrated, it’s got nothing to do with Clarke. He doesn’t want to fuck his sister. He absolutely does not want to fuck his sister.

-

Clarke’s affectionate nature becomes somewhat of a curse after that. He’s painfully aware of how horny he is all the fucking time, and he keeps remembering how he had the urge to suck her nipples. He has this constant, awful, guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Her cheek kisses and cuddles do nothing to help the matter. It’s embarrassing how often his dick is hard, and crawling into bed with her at night makes his heart race, because he’s terrified that she’ll find out what he’s been thinking, or that she’ll feel his erection, or that her tits will pop out again and he won’t be able to stop those same thoughts from flooding his brain.

And worse, he can’t stop thinking about her, lying there with her tits out. The image flashes up in his mind at the most inopportune moments. When they’re lying in bed together, when they’re cuddled up in front of the TV. When he’s dropping her off at school and she’s leaning over to kiss his cheek. When she’s walking around the house in those pyjamas, and he can see her breasts moving under her top, and he can barely breathe because he thinks she might accidentally reveal herself to him again.

But he does his best to act normal. If he acts normal, eventually he’ll forget about what he saw, what he thought, and then things can go back to actually _being_ normal.

She asks him to drop her off at Josie’s birthday party on Saturday night, and he agrees.

“I can stay over the night if you don’t want to pick me up,” Clarke says, walking into the living room, where Bellamy is trying to get his assigned reading for the week out of the way. Clarke has been hogging their room for hours, getting ready for the party.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll pick you up,” Bellamy says, then looks up from his textbook. He’s left speechless for a moment, when he sets his eyes on her. She’s got her make-up all perfectly done, and her hair is immaculately curled. Her top dips low, revealing way too much cleavage, and her short skirt hugs her ass, showing off her creamy white thighs. There’s no way he’s letting her go out dressed like that. Dressed like she wants to be looked at, like she wants to be fucked.

That unwanted image of her bare breasts flashes into his mind. His cock jumps.

“What?” Clarke says, looking down. Obviously he’s been staring too long.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he chokes out.

“What’s wrong with it?”

Bellamy’s mouth forms a thin line. “Are there going to be boys there?”

“Well—yeah,” she says, like it’s obvious.

“I think you should change,” Bellamy says. “Your dad wouldn’t want me letting you go out dressed like that. You’ll attract too much of the wrong kind of attention.”

Clarke glowers at him. “You’re saying I look like a slut.”

“I didn’t say that,” Bellamy huffs. “Look, you look—” _gorgeous, stunning, sexy,_ “—very nice. But teenage boys are horrible, Clarke. Even college boys are horrible. You don’t want to know the kinds of things they’d say about you if they saw you dressed like that.”

Clarke chews her lip. “So because _boys_ are horrible, I can’t wear whatever I want?”

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says. And his own sanity. The thought of some random high school boy trying to get his hands on her makes his blood boil. “Besides, who are you trying to impress? You’re not trying to get some idiot in your class to notice you, are you?”

Clarke shrugs. “No one in particular.”

Bellamy’s jaw ticks. “Clarke,” he says. “Don’t settle for some loser who just wants to get into your pants, okay? Save yourself for somebody who loves you, who worships you.”

“Okay,” Clarke says.

He swallows, and he hates himself for his next question, but he has to ask it. “You are a virgin, aren’t you?”

“Oh my god,” she squeaks, cheeks blooming with red. She drops her eyes, unable to look at him. “Yes.”

Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief. “Good,” he says. “Just—keep it that way, at least while you’re staying here, okay?”

Clarke nods, clearly too embarrassed to argue. She hurries off to get changed, and comes back ten minutes later in a much more modest dress. It still doesn’t really hide the fact that her breasts are enormous, but it’s better than before. He squeezes his eyes shut as he thinks about her naked tits again.

She gives him Josie’s address, and he drives her there, pulling up in front of what is very clearly a rich person’s house. There are other teenagers walking in from the street, and while it doesn’t look like a rager, it also doesn’t look like a _small_ party either. He’s somewhat trepidatious about leaving her here.

“Be careful, okay?” he says.

“Stop worrying,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been to a party before. I won’t let anyone take my virginity.”

One glance at her tells him she’s recovered from her embarrassment, and is now teasing him for asking her the question in the first place.

“No drinking,” Bellamy says. “And _definitely_ no drugs.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but now I know it’s forbidden, it seems so much more enticing,” Clarke grins.

“You’re going to send me to an early grave,” Bellamy groans.

Clarke laughs. “I promise I’ll be careful,” she whispers. “I’ll text you when I’m ready to come home.”

Bellamy nods, and he turns his head towards her to say something else, what, he can’t remember, because at the same time, Clarke leans in to kiss his cheek, but because of his untimely head turn, she catches his lips instead. His eyes close as their lips brush, only ever so slightly, and he doesn’t mean to, but he thinks he kisses her back, just a little. It sends a jolt right to his core.

Clarke pulls away, hand flying to her lips. “Oh my god,” she says, flushing. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says quickly. “It was an accident.”

Clarke scrambles for the door handle, looking shaken. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, it was just an awkward accident. They should be able to laugh it off and forget about it, but Clarke can’t get out of the car fast enough. Did she notice him try to kiss her back? That was just an accident too. Just a reflex because someone’s lips were on his.

But she’s gone, and it’s too late to explain, and it’s not like he can bring it up again later. It’s the kind of thing that just needs to be forgotten.

“Fuck,” he swears, slamming the steering wheel. He starts the car, knot in his stomach the whole way home.

He tries to go back to his reading when he gets home, in Clarke’s bedroom this time, at her little white desk, but he can’t stop rubbing his fingers across his lips, as if trying to rid himself of the feeling of her mouth on his. He groans, dropping his head to his textbook, running his hands over his hair. He should not be thinking about this. He doesn’t know why it consumes him, the thought of her lips, and her tits. It’s fucked up that he’s not grossed out by it.

He wonders if she’s ever been kissed before, or if that was her first kiss. It would be kind of scarring for her, if her first kiss was an accidental lip lock with her own brother. But then, it’s not like it was a proper kiss. Her lips were completely shut, and there was no tongue. His thoughts betray him, and what was an innocent, accidental peck on the lips, becomes teasing her mouth open with his tongue, devouring her, showing her what kissing should be like.

“Shit, shit shit,” he mutters. He curls his hands into fists. His cock is painfully hard, and he’s so fucking horny he could burst. Is he really that sexually frustrated that the thought of kissing his own sister turns him on?

He really needs to get laid. Or at least masturbate. And, he realises, now is the perfect time to do just that, seeing as Clarke and Roan are both out at parties, and Aurora is at work.

He unbuttons his jeans, hands shaking, and hastily releases his cock, leaking precum. Clarke has some coconut scented lotion sitting on the desk, and he squirts some into his hand, then coats his cock, letting out a controlled breath as he touches himself. God, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him this way, even himself.

He tries to take it slow, knowing he has all the time in the world before anyone comes home, but he’s too desperate to wait, and his hand moves at a speed he didn’t even know was possible. His breathing grows laboured as he gets closer, leaning back in the desk chair, closing his eyes, thoughts focused firmly on the first woman he can think of that isn’t his sister—Bree from work.

He tugs at his cock frantically, feeling himself on the tipping point, imagining Bree, naked on her knees in front of him, mouth wrapped around his cock. He’s so close—so, so close, and then, before he can stop it, his mind turns Bree into Clarke, and it’s his sister’s face he sees as he comes, his sister’s pretty little lips on his cock, his sister’s tits, bouncing as she sucks him off eagerly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans. He tries to distinguish whether he was already coming when that image popped into his head, or whether it was that thought that tipped him over. Either way, he feels sick. But not as sick as he should.

There’s something seriously wrong with him, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. It’s not like he can tell anyone about these thoughts. They’d think him perverted, fucked up, disgusting. All he can do is keep squashing them as far down as possible, and hope they eventually go away.

Aurora is the first one home, and she comes into the living room where Bellamy is playing video games to distract himself from his nasty thoughts. She sits on the arm of the couch, just watching for a minute.

“Do you need something?” Bellamy eventually asks, not looking away from the screen.

“You’ve been a really good sport about all this,” she says. Bellamy is sure it pains her to even say that much. “I know you weren’t happy about Clarke being here, or Roan. But thank you for accepting it.”

Bellamy pauses the game and looks at his mother. “You didn’t give me much of a choice,” he huffs.

“I’m trying to apologise here.”

“You’re shitty at apologies.”

Aurora sighs. “I know,” she says. “I’m the worst mother in the world. Hate me if you want to. I always did what was best for you.”

“Are you talking about Jake now?”

“He’s not your father, Bellamy. And maybe you were right, maybe I thought you’d choose him if given the option. But I don’t regret it.”

“I deserved to know.”

Aurora shrugs. “Agree to disagree.”

Bellamy snorts, and turns back to his game. As apologies go, it’s one of the worst he’s heard. The words _I’m sorry_ were never even uttered. But he knows it’s the best his mother can do, so he accepts it for what it is—acknowledgement and an attempt to move forward.

“Sure, Mom,” he says.

“I’m going to go pick up Clarke from the party,” Aurora says. “She messaged me to say she’s ready to come home.”

Bellamy turns back to his mother, his stomach churning. Clarke was supposed to message _him_. The fact that she didn’t—is she still freaked out by their accidental kiss? Did she notice him try to kiss her back? Does she somehow know exactly what he’s been thinking?

He swallows. “Okay,” he says. “I guess I’ll go to bed then.”

Part of him thinks he should sleep on the floor tonight—but he still hasn’t blown up the air-mattress, and he’s too tired to do it now. So he gets into her bed anyway, resolving that he’ll reinflate it tomorrow, and give her her space, since she’s so obviously disgusted by him.

He’s still awake when she gets home, but he pretends to be asleep, keeping his eyes firmly closed as he listens to her undress and put her pyjamas on. She gets into bed next to him, but she stays on her side, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

He swallows the lump in his throat, and blinks back the tears that form in his eyes.

-

Her affection stops completely after that. No more hugs, or casual touches, or cheek kisses. She’s still pleasant to him when she sees him, but he feels like she’s avoiding him. She starts getting Josie to take her to and from school, claiming she feels bad that Bellamy has to spend so much of his time looking after her. Bellamy doesn’t bother trying to argue that he _likes_ doing it.

Her distance from him hurts. It feels like when she left him four years ago, even though she’s still right here. It feels like she doesn’t love him anymore.

He goes back to sleeping on the floor, and after sleeping in Clarke’s bed, the air mattress seems even more uncomfortable.

And on top of all that, he still can’t rid his sexual thoughts about her from his mind. He falls asleep thinking about her, and he wakes up thinking about her. It’s not even always sexual exactly—sometimes it’s just him holding her, or kissing her. But it’s certainly not _innocent_. It can never be innocent, not when it’s _her_. His sister.

He dreams about her too. It feels so real, her sitting on his lap on the couch, clothed at first, but then he realises they’re both naked, and the dream version of himself is panicking, because he’s worried someone might walk in and see them naked together.

“Clarke, we have to put clothes on, before someone sees,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” Clarke tells him, unconcerned. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Dream Bellamy realises she’s right, and he relaxes. They’re just watching TV, and she’s just naked on his lap, and his cock is hard but it’s okay because it doesn’t mean anything.

She keeps moving around, claiming she can’t get comfortable. She squirms against him, then tries shifting her weight. Then she lifts herself off him for a moment, and when she sits back down, his cock slides into her pussy.

“Oh my god,” Clarke says. Bellamy hearts races.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean it—I’m sorry, oh god.”

“It’s okay, it was just an accident,” Clarke says. But neither of them moves, and his cock is still inside her. He tentatively thrusts against her, and she whimpers. She rolls her hips back against him, and it’s clear she wants this as much as he does.

He grabs her tits, and thrusts up against her again, and again and again and again, and she bounces on his cock, moaning, begging for him to keep going.

He wakes up as he comes, filling his boxers with his seed, but in his mind he’s still inside Clarke, and it takes him a moment to come back to reality, where he’s lying on an air mattress, panting, a few feet away from his sister, whom he just had a fucking wet dream about.

God, he hopes he wasn’t moaning out loud. He rubs his face with his hand, frustrated, sickened, horny. He sits up, and looks over at her, her peacefully sleeping form just visible in the dark. His heart lurches. God, he wants her. He wants her, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Wants to kiss her until her lips are bruised, hold her all through the night. Wants his little sister’s mouth around his cock, wants to play with her tits, fuck her tight little pussy, take her virginity. Wants to be the only man to ever touch her.

And yet he can never have her. Never tell anyone. He has to live with the knowledge that he’s genuinely attracted to his sister, that these thoughts aren’t just random intrusive thoughts. It’s fucked up, it’s so fucked up. But maybe if he admits it to himself, he can finally start to get over her.

-

He's good at hiding it, he thinks. It definitely helps that Clarke is still keeping her distance, and though that still hurts, he knows it’s for the best. He doesn’t think he could cope with her constantly touching him now that he’s aware of what he feels about her.

He tries not to watch her, or look at her too much, but sometimes he catches himself staring at her, and he has to quickly look away when she makes eye-contact. And he still can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a curse, a disease. His infatuation only grows stronger as the days go by, and his guilt grows with it.

Even though he thinks he’s good at hiding it, Miller and Murphy notice something is up with him. They don’t know _what_ , but they comment on his moody behaviour while they’re having lunch on campus one day between classes.

“Earth to Bellamy,” Miller says.

Bellamy looks up from his overpriced sandwich, jolted from his thoughts about Clarke. “What?” Bellamy asks.

“I was asking if you wanted to come to a party this weekend,” Miller says. “Seriously what’s up with you lately?”

“Nothing’s up with me.”

“Something’s definitely up with you,” Murphy agrees. “You’re all—” he gestures at Bellamy, “broody.”

“I’m always like this.”

“It’s worse than usual.”

Bellamy shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, even though he does.

“This is why you’re coming to the party this weekend,” Miller decides. “Have you even been out once this semester? What happened to the old Bellamy?”

“Fine, I’ll come to the party,” Bellamy agrees with a sigh. Perhaps he’ll get drunk enough to be able to consider fucking someone who isn’t Clarke.

-

Conveniently, when Bellamy mentions to Clarke that he’s going to a party, Josie shows up at their house not half an hour later. Bellamy pretends not to know what they’re up to. He can hear them from the bathroom as he shaves, standing in front of the mirror in just a towel, fresh from his shower.

“Go and ask him!” he hears Josie hiss.

“You ask him,” Clarke hisses back. There’s more muttered back and forth between them as they argue about whose job it is to invite themselves to the party, but evidently, Clarke loses. She shows up in the doorway of the bathroom moments later, leaning against the frame. He can feel her watching him, not saying anything.

“Do you want something?” he finally asks her. She starts at his words, like she hadn’t known he was aware of her presence.

“Oh,” she says. She’s blushing as she glances down at the floor. “Um—Josie and I were wondering—would it be okay if we came to the party with you?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, turning back to the mirror.

“We won’t bother you or anything,” Clarke says. “No one even has to know we’re related. We just want to—”

“I said no,” Bellamy cuts her off. “I’m not taking you to a college party.” Satisfied his face is clean shaven, Bellamy puts down his razor.

“Why not?” Clarke huffs.

“You’re too young,” he says. “And like I’ve said before, college boys aren’t trustworthy.”

“But—”

“No, Clarke,” he snaps. “That’s the end of it.”

He steps towards her, with the intention of shutting the door so he can finish getting ready in peace. But the movement causes his towel to come untucked, and it unravels before he even realises what’s happening. He grabs for it a second too late, and then he’s naked, his soft cock exposed for his sister to see.

“Oh my god,” Clarke squeaks, her eyes bulging. A second later she quickly squeezes them shut. _That’s_ how you’re supposed to react when you see your sibling naked.

“Shit,” Bellamy swears, picking up his towel and securing it around his waist again. “Sorry,” he mutters. Is it awful that her reaction stings? That he wants her to be impressed, or overcome with lust?

Clarke tentatively opens an eye. “I’ll just—go,” she says, swallowing thickly before hastily making her exit.

Bellamy groans to himself as he shuts the door. He can feel his cock start to harden as his mind betrays him, playing out a scene where instead of being horrified, Clarke drops to her knees and takes him into her mouth.

Bellamy is more resolved than ever to get laid at the party tonight.

-

He manages to forget about her, for a while. He’s got a drink in his hand, his friends around him, a girl flirting with him, and the music is loud. For a little while, he’s not a disgusting pervert lusting after his little sister, he’s just a normal twenty-year-old at a party.

He ends up in a corner with Roma, a girl from one of his classes, huddled close, her whispering into his ear. He has no idea what she’s saying. It doesn’t matter. He kisses her midsentence, and she doesn’t seem to mind, because her tongue slides into his mouth without hesitation. He has her up against the wall, and he’s probably using way too much tongue, and it’s sloppy and most likely revolting to anyone watching, but he doesn’t care, because he needs this.

“Dude,” he hears Miller’s voice interrupting him, and he pulls away from Roma with a deep sigh.

“I’m a little busy,” he says, turning to Miller, gesturing to Roma with his head.

“I just met your housemate,” Miller continues, ignoring Bellamy’s annoyed expression. “He’s kinda hot but not really my type.”

“No offence, but I don’t care.”

Miller takes a sip of his drink. “Also, your sister is here.”

That grabs his attention. He drops his arms from Roma’s waist, his full attention on Miller now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, feeling his blood pressure rise. He’d explicitly told her not to come.

Miller shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s over there.” He points to where Clarke is sitting on the couch, pressed up against some drunk white guy, his arm around her shoulders. She’s wearing nothing but a tight little black dress, her expansive cleavage on display.

Bellamy grits his teeth, his blood boiling at the sight of someone touching his little sister. He strides over, Roma forgotten. Clarke looks up as he approaches, and her guilty look only makes him angrier. He grabs her wrist and pulls her up from the couch, away from the dirty hands of the creep next to her.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps.

“Roan brought us,” Clarke says. “But now that we’re here—”

“No,” Bellamy growls. “I’m taking you home.”

“Bellamy, come on, what’s the big deal?” Clarke whines. “I won’t drink anything, I promise.”

“The _big deal_ is that you’re dressed like _that_ , and you’re already letting random guys you barely know hang all over you,” Bellamy hisses. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been here, huh? How far would you have let it get?”

“That’s—"

“Enough,” Bellamy says. “We can finish this at home, come on.” Clarke pouts, lifting her chin defiantly. Bellamy tilts his head, warning her not to mess with him. “Don’t make me carry you out of here.”

Uncertainty flashes across Clarke’s face, as she realises he’s not kidding around. He’ll do it if he has to. He shrugs off his jacket and puts it around her shoulders, covering her bared skin as best he can, before putting his hand on the small of her back and leading her out of the house.

Clarke doesn’t speak on the way home, and neither does Bellamy. She’s sulking, and he’s livid. He knows that some of his anger comes from jealousy, possessiveness, and that just makes it worse. He’s angry at her, at himself, and at the guy who dared to touch her.

She stalks inside, and Bellamy follows her, slamming doors as he goes, his frustration reaching its pinnacle. He follows her to her room, where she spins around, glaring at him.

“What were you thinking?” he says angrily. “I explicitly told you weren’t allowed to come.”

“Except you’re not in charge of me!” Clarke spits back. “You’re my brother, not my father.”

“Your dad specifically asked me to look after you,” Bellamy says. “Especially when it comes to boys.”

Clarke scoffs. “So that’s the only reason you’re so stupidly overprotective, is it? Because you’re trying to impress my dad? Not because you actually care about _me_.”

“You know that’s not true,” Bellamy says. “I care about you so much it fucking consumes me. I can’t stand the thought of someone touching you, of someone even _looking_ at you the wrong way.”

“I’m not as innocent as you think I am,” Clarke says.

Bellamy’s eyes flick to hers, and his stomach drops. Was she lying about being a virgin? Has someone else already had her? “Have you—” he starts, but he can’t seem to finish the question.

“No,” she says quickly, softer now. “I’ve never—done anything really. Never even been kissed.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out weak. He flashes back to that night in his car, in front of Josie’s house. Is she thinking about that too?

She sits down on the bed, and Bellamy’s eyes follow her. “It’s just—I have—” she swallows, closing her eyes. “I have all these thoughts,” she whispers. “Nasty, awful, disgusting thoughts. And I thought if I could just get someone to—I don’t know, make out with me, even. Maybe I’d stop having them.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, gently. He pads over to the bed and sits down beside her. He reaches out a hand to comfort her, but she stiffens, so he quickly pulls it away. “It’s normal to have thoughts about sex. That doesn’t mean you need to throw yourself at the first person who’ll have you.”

Clarke groans. “It’s worse than that,” she says. “Much, much worse.”

“You can tell me,” Bellamy says. “I won’t judge you, I promise.”

“I can’t,” Clarke croaks out. Tears spill from her eyes. “It’s too horrible. You’d never look at me the same.”

“Clarke, plenty of people have fucked up fantasies. But that’s all they are—it doesn’t mean you want to act on them,” he assures her. Even though he _does_ want to act on his fucked up fantasies. But they aren’t talking about him.

Clarke swallows, looking up at him. “Like what?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “All kinds of things. People have… rape fantasies,” he says. He figures that’s probably closest to what she’s thinking of. But she’s still looking at him expectantly. “Um—or like—hurting someone or being hurt. Fucking a teacher, or, you know, someone else you aren’t supposed to want.” He swallows. “Incest.”

His face is burning. He shouldn’t be talking about this stuff with his sister, let alone alluding to his own desires that involve her.

“What if it’s more than just a fantasy though?” Clarke whispers. “It’s just—when I think about sex, or kissing, or any of that stuff, I can’t help thinking about…” she trails off, squirming, embarrassed.

“About what?”

“About you,” she finally admits, her voice barely a whisper. His cock jumps. She bursts into tears again. “Oh my god,” she whimpers. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said it, I—it doesn’t mean anything. It’s disgusting, I know it’s disgusting.”

“Clarke, Clarke,” he says quickly, soothing, pulling her into his arms. Fuck. Fuck. She wants him too. “It’s okay, I promise it’s okay. I don’t think you’re disgusting.”

“How could you not?” Clarke sobs. “You’re my brother, I shouldn’t have thoughts like that about you. And I was trying so hard to convince myself it was normal, how I felt about you. How I always wanted you to hold me, and touch me. How jealous I was when I thought Bree was your girlfriend. How I wanted you to sleep in my bed.

And then when we kissed—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I wanted it to happen again, and I couldn’t keep convincing myself it was normal. I heard you moaning in your sleep one night, and I wanted to touch myself. And then I saw you naked, and all I could think about was how it would feel if you—if you took my virginity. So how could you not think I’m disgusting, when I thought all that about my own brother?”

“Because, Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs, pressing a kiss to her hair as he rubs her back. His heart is racing, his cock straining against his fly. He wants to pin her down and kiss her senseless, then push his cock inside her and make her come over and over. “I’ve thought about it too,” he admits.

Her breath catches. “You have?”

“Yes,” he says. “You’re all I think about,” he whispers. “I felt so guilty. I thought you’d hate me if you knew.”

“Bell,” she whimpers, pulling away so she can look at him. Her eyes flick to his lips.

He shakes his head. “We can’t,” he says huskily. “It’s not right. We can’t act on it. No matter how much we want to.”

Clarke nods, and he’s glad of it, but also disappointed. She agrees because she knows he’s right, because she has to. But if she disagreed, if she begged him, told him how much she needs him, he knows he’d give in so easily. No laws or taboos could stop him.

“Okay,” she says. “Bell?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we—are we super fucked up? For wanting each other? For even thinking about it?”

“Probably,” he snorts.

Clarke chews her lip. “Will you come and sleep in the bed again?”

He nods, though it’s probably not the wisest of decisions. “Of course.”

-

Waking up with her in his arms is even worse when he knows she’s had all the same thoughts as he has. That she probably wants him to kiss her as much as he wants to kiss her. He breathes in the scent of her hair, strokes her forearm with his thumb. He can allow himself those little intimacies, surely?

“Are you awake?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” Clarke whispers back. “What time is it?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Late, I think.”

“Can we just stay like this all day?”

“I would love to, but unfortunately I have to work,” he says.

“Call in sick.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Okay,” he says.

He doesn’t though. Twenty minutes later, Aurora is banging on the door, telling her lazy children to get up. She has the day off from both her jobs today, and Bellamy is glad he has to work, because he has no doubt she’s going to rope Clarke into cleaning the entire house, or doing the gardening, or some other tedious job. Bellamy wishes his mother would just relax for once.

Bellamy gets out of bed, and he doesn’t bother leaving the room to get changed, just keeps his back turned to Clarke. When he turns back, she’s watching him. Which, he won’t deny, is what he wanted. The blush that covers her face when he makes eye contact with her sends blood rushing to his cock.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says. “I finish at six.”

Clarke nods. “Okay.”

He has the urge to kiss her goodbye. Instead, he just gives her a nod and walks out the door.

-

When he gets home, Aurora, Clarke, and Roan are all in the kitchen. He ducks his head in, confused as to why they’re all hanging out together. Clarke is setting the table, while Aurora and Roan seem to be cooking different dishes, Aurora looking frantic, and Roan calm and collected.

“What’s going on?” Bellamy asks suspiciously.

“We’re having family dinner,” Aurora says.

Bellamy makes eye contact with Clarke, and she shrugs. “Family dinner?” Bellamy repeats. They never even had family dinner back when Jake was still married to his mom.

“Roan’s only here for a couple more weeks,” Aurora says. “And I feel like I’ve barely seen Clarke since she’s been here. I want a sit-down meal where we all get a chance to talk properly.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at Clarke, and she ducks her head to hide her smile. “Okay,” Bellamy says, trying not to sound too incredulous.

“Come and sit down, it’s almost ready,” Aurora urges him. Bellamy obeys, sitting in his usual seat at the table. Clarke sits down next to him, not looking at him. Her knee knocks against his as she slides into her seat.

Aurora and Roan bring over four plates, topped with lamb cutlets and vegetables. Thankfully it appears Roan did the lamb, since Bellamy is not a huge fan of his mother’s cooking. She tends to err on the side of caution, and any meat she cooks is most definitely well-done.

Aurora sits at the head of the table, and Roan sits across from Clarke.

“Alright, now everyone fill me in on what’s been happening in your lives,” Aurora says. Bellamy shares a look with Clarke. Well, they obviously can’t tell their mother _that_.

“One of the kids I’ve been tutoring got their first A on an assignment,” Bellamy says instead. “And we got a new guy at the diner who sucks.”

“Bellamy, don’t be rude,” Aurora scolds. “I’m sure he’s trying his best.”

“No, he sucks as a person, not an employee. Although he sucks as an employee too.”

Aurora rolls her eyes. “What about you, Clarke?”

Clarke shrugs. “Nothing interesting.”

“We all went to a party last night,” Roan says. “Though these two bailed early.”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t that fun,” Bellamy says. “And I needed a good night’s sleep since I had work today.”

“Must be much more comfortable in Clarke’s bed than on the floor,” Roan says nonchalantly, popping a forkful of potato into his mouth. “I’d never share a bed with my sister though. She’s a sleep thrasher.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes, then glances at his mom. “Clarke sleeps like a log,” he says.

“That’s nice of you to share your bed, honey,” Aurora says. “Just like when you were kids.”

Clarke nods, but her cheeks are pink with embarrassment as she silently eats her food. Bellamy can feel her thigh pressed up against his.

Aurora turns to Roan, smiling. “You should’ve seen these two when they were kids. Inseparable,” she says fondly. “Never seen a boy love his sister so much. And Clarke—” she cuts herself off with a laugh. “You know when little kids are too young to really know what marriage really means, and some little girls say they want to marry their dad? Clarke used to say she wanted to marry her brother.”

Clarke chokes on the piece of lamb she’d been trying to swallow. “I did _not_ say that,” she says.

“You did,” Aurora laughs. She doesn’t seem to notice she’s the only one laughing. Clarke looks like she’s about to die from embarrassment. Bellamy’s face is hot, his heart racing, and Roan is watching them curiously, like he knows something they don’t. Or maybe, he knows something they _do_.

“Mom, seriously,” Bellamy groans. “Don’t be weird. Can we change the subject?”

“Okay, okay, fine,” she says. “Roan, why don’t you tell us about all the adventures you’ve been having while you’re here.”

Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief as Roan does as he’s bid, and allows the conversation to move on. He does most of the talking for the rest of the night, with Aurora interjecting with the occasional question, while Bellamy tries to comfort Clarke by rubbing circles on her thigh.

-

They get into bed that night, and for the first time, Bellamy becomes conscious of how oddly domestic it is, like they’re a married couple and not brother and sister. Still, he lets her toe the line, welcoming her into his arms, though they’re both aware that it’s not the innocent gesture they’re pretending it is. They’re satisfying their need to be close to each other, without technically breaking any rules.

“Do you think Roan suspects there’s something going on between us?” Clarke whispers, anxiety in her voice.

Bellamy’s arms tighten around her. He was kind of hoping she hadn’t picked up on Roan’s less-than-subtle implications. But of course she did, she’s not stupid.

“I don’t know,” Bellamy says. “I can’t tell if he actually suspects something or if he’s just being a dick. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know anything.”

“At least Mom is clueless,” Clarke says. “God, imagine if she knew what we’ve been thinking.”

“I could fuck you right in front of her and she probably wouldn’t catch on,” Bellamy says, thoughtlessly. He instantly regrets it. Clarke tenses up, gives a little whimper. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t talk about you like that.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke says. “I like knowing you’re thinking about it too,” she admits.

“All the time,” Bellamy says gruffly. She shivers, and Bellamy’s cock jumps. “We should go to sleep,” he says, though he’ll probably lie awake for hours thinking about her, how she wanted to marry him when she was a kid, how part of him wishes that could happen.

He reaches out behind him and pats around until he finds the switch to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Bell?” Clarke whispers. She hesitates. “Can I have a goodnight kiss?”

He feels his heart constrict. He lets his eyes adjust to the dark, and then presses a kiss to her forehead, though he knows that’s not what she wants. It’s not what he wants either, but he’s still trying to be good.

But he kisses her again anyway, on her cheek this time, shifting his body so he’s lower down, more on top of her than beside her now.

“One more,” Clarke murmurs. He hesitates. “It’s just a kiss,” she tells him, as if she isn’t the one who freaked out about their kiss last time. As if both of them aren’t thinking about more than just a kiss.

Even still, he lowers his mouth to hers, his heart pounding. He shouldn’t be doing this. But it is just a kiss, after all. Just one little kiss.

His lips ghost against hers, ever so lightly. And then firmer, when her lips part for him. A tiny moan escapes her mouth when his tongue slips into her mouth. His heart clangs around in his chest, and his every nerve is on edge. It’s wrong, so wrong, but he’s so proud that he’s giving his little sister her first proper kiss. And she kisses him back, tentative at first, but then greedy, following his lead, learning quickly.

Bellamy pulls away, head spinning, lips throbbing, cock aching. That was a bad idea. The kiss was supposed to satiate his desire, not inflame it.

“Clarke,” he groans. “We can’t do this.”

“It doesn’t count,” Clarke promises him. “No one saw. It was just us, alone in the dark. Just our lips.”

“Okay,” Bellamy agrees. It’s not incest if no one sees. It’s not incest if only their lips touch. Shouldn’t he be able to kiss his sister? Show her affection? And of course, no one else would understand. But it feels good, and they both want it, and if he’s not fucking her, is it really so wrong?

“Goodnight, Clarke,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against hers one more time before lying back down on his side.

“Goodnight, Bell. Love you,” she says.

“Love you too,” he returns. And he means it, but for the first time he wonders exactly _how_ he means it.

-

They don’t keep their distance from each other as much as they should. If Bellamy was trying to stay sane, he’d go back to sleeping on the air mattress. He wouldn’t give her a good morning kiss, and a goodnight kiss, and tell himself that it’s okay. He wouldn’t let her sit on his lap on the couch, he wouldn’t touch her at every opportunity.

She encourages him, enables him, revels in it. She wants to be touched, spoiled, adored, and he wants to do it. She deserves it. And in return, she makes his world glow, makes everything seem better just by existing in the same place at the same time as him. She makes him feel wanted, needed, appreciated, loved.

And it’s so unfair that the universe gave them each other, only to make sure they’re never allowed to act on it, just because they share the same blood. They’re never allowed to be more than this to each other—they’ve taken it too far already, Bellamy knows. She’ll never truly be _his,_ the way he wants her to be. If he wants all that—a woman to share his life with—he has to find somebody else.

Yet he can’t imagine loving someone the way he loves Clarke. And who the fuck is ever going to love him the way she loves him?

So he keeps thinking about it, about things he can never have with her. Sex, mostly, but all the other stuff too. It drives him insane. He’s horny all the time, his cock is constantly hard. Sometimes he can feel how much she wants him too—can see her dilated pupils, her shortened breath, can feel her desire radiating off her, pulsing within her, the same way it is in him.

There’s a carnival in town, Roan’s last weekend with them before he goes back to Canada a week later. Bellamy has no intention of going, since he kind of thinks he’s too old for it, and Miller and Murphy haven’t made any plans to go either. He assumes Clarke will go with her friends from school.

But then it’s Saturday night, and he gets home from work, and Clarke is there by herself, already in her pyjamas, though it’s not even six.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, walking into the living room, plonking himself down on the couch next to her. She pauses the show she’s watching. “Why aren’t you at the carnival?”

Clarke shrugs. “Josie and I were supposed to go but she ditched me to go with her new boyfriend,” Clarke says sullenly.

“You want me to take you?” Bellamy asks, without thinking. He can’t bear to see her unhappy. She perks up immediately.

“Would you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bellamy says. “As long as it’s not too _embarrassing_ for you to be seen in public with your brother,” he teases, rubbing her arm with the back of his finger. She surges forward and grabs his face in her hands, pressing her lips against his, like it’s totally normal, because lately, they’ve been acting like it _is_ totally normal. As long as they’re alone.

“You’re the best,” she says, running off to go and get dressed, like she hasn’t just left him completely breathless and longing for the hundredth time this week.

Once showered and dressed, Bellamy drives them to the carnival, finding a parking spot a short walk from the entrance. They walk side by side, their hands brushing once, then twice, and when it happens a third time, Bellamy moves further away, so he doesn’t give in to the urge to hold her hand.

He realises almost immediately that bringing her here was a mistake. As her brother, the only reason he should be here with her is if his mom forced him and he complained about it the whole time, wishing he was with his friends. He shouldn’t be thinking about how it feels more like a date than anything else. Because that’s the only other reason he would normally come to something like this.

Everything at a carnival feels so _coupley_. The rides are all meant for two people. The only purpose of the games is to show off and win a prize for your girl. But he goes on the Ferris wheel with her anyway, and he tries not to think about how romantic it is looking down on the town from the top, and how he wants to kiss her so much, and slip his hand between her legs and tease her through her jeans.

He knows Clarke is thinking about it too, because she’s tenser than he’s ever seen her, like she’s trying to keep herself in check because she knows she can’t act like she does in private while they’re in public.

He pays for some kind of rigged shooting game, and they play against each other, and Clarke wins, and she’s so fucking adorable when she gets excited, and Bellamy’s heart swells as he watches her beaming as the man in the stand hands her a little toy cat. God, he wants to press his lips against that smile.

“Oh my god, Clarke,” a high-pitched voice squeals, and Bellamy looks up to see Josie walking over to them, holding hands with a very tall man.

“Oh,” Clarke says, her face falling. “Hey, Josie.”

Josie glances at Bellamy. “Did you bring your brother to the carnival?” she snorts. “Lame.”

“He’s not lame,” Clarke snaps.

Josie rolls her eyes. “What about when he dragged you home from that party? That was pretty lame. So embarrassing for you. You could’ve got a boyfriend that night, like I did.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” Clarke says. Bellamy can feel himself glowering at Josie, but he stays out of it.

“Well, you could’ve at least lost your virginity like you said you wanted to,” Josie shrugs. Bellamy’s stomach flips over, and he finds himself blushing as Josie glances at him again.

“Shut up, Josie,” Clarke growls.

“Oops,” Josie says sweetly. “Should I not have said that in front of your brother? Will you be in trouble now? My bad.”

“Fuck off, Josie,” Clarke snaps, and Josie makes a face.

“Whatever, Clarke,” she huffs. “I thought you were cool, but you’re clearly just another loser too scared to break the rules or do anything fun. Bye!”

Josie stalks off then, dragging her college-aged boyfriend behind her. Bellamy swallows guiltily when he realises he’s not exactly in a position to judge the guy, considering he’s lusting after Clarke, who’s not only the same age as Josie, but also his sister.

“We should go home,” Clarke says quietly, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Don’t let her ruin the night for you.”

Clarke shrugs. “It’s not just that.” She glances around, making sure no one is around to overhear her. “It’s just—this is too weird,” she admits. “It feels like we’re on a date. And I can’t stop thinking about—”

“I know,” he says quickly. He doesn’t need her to say it out loud. “Let’s go home.”

They walk back through the parking lot towards the car. There’s a couple making out on the hood of the car two cars away from Bellamy’s, the man’s hand down the front of the woman’s pants. Bellamy tries not to pay too much attention, but the sight of it gets him feeling heated, as if he isn’t already horny enough from his lack of sexual stimulation and Clarke’s constant presence.

As they get closer, Bellamy realises he recognises the man.

“Roan?” he blurts, before he can stop himself. Roan looks up, not removing his hand from the woman’s pants. Whom Bellamy now realises he also recognises. “Roma?”

“Oh, hey, Bellamy,” she says. Roan gives him a nod and a smug grin.

Bellamy glances at Clarke, who’s staring at the couple with wide eyes, her face tinted pink. Roan seems to remember himself, and quickly extracts his hand.

“I was just, uh—adjusting—”

“Trying to find—“ Roma adds.

“Save it,” Clarke huffs. “I’m sixteen, not stupid.”

Roan shrugs. “I won’t be home tonight,” he says.

Bellamy and Clarke leave him to it, hastily getting into the car before they can witness any more of the show. Bellamy is fully erect now, mostly because his stupid brain allowed him to think about him and Clarke switching places with Roan and Roma, and now he desperately wants to finger her on the hood of a car. He tries to keep his hand casually over his lap on the drive home so she won’t notice.

She’s silent on the drive, but not still. She squirms in her seat constantly, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Bellamy tries not to think about why.

“That was a disturbing sight, right?” he tries to joke.

“Uh huh,” Clarke answers faintly. He doesn’t try to make conversation after that.

It’s still early when they get back to the house, and Roan and their mom are both still out, so Bellamy asks Clarke if she wants to watch a movie or play a video game with him, but she declines, electing instead to take a shower. A shower that takes much longer than three minutes. Not that Bellamy is timing or anything, or waiting for her. But he watches a few videos on his phone, and five minutes becomes ten, and then fifteen, and he starts to worry. Maybe she slipped and fell.

He tiptoes towards the bathroom, and knocks cautiously but firmly on the door. “Clarke?” he calls. “Are you okay?” There’s a short silence, in which Bellamy gears himself up to break the door down.

“I’m fine!” she calls back, voice a little strangled. She doesn’t _sound_ fine. The shower shuts off. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” he says, returning to their room, unconvinced. He lies on the bed, waiting for her, scrolling through Instagram, though he’s already up to date with his friends’ posts.

Clarke walks in a minute later, in her pyjamas. Her hair is dry, so it’s not because she was washing it that she was in there such a long time. He wonders if she’s upset about what Josie said. Maybe that’s why she was so silent on the drive home, and she wasn’t thinking the same things as he was at all.

Bellamy scrambles off the bed, putting his phone down. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. Clarke nods shortly. “Really?” he says sceptically. “Why were you in there so long?”

Clarke drops her eyes from his, flushing deep red. “I was, um—” she stammers. Her inability to come up with an excuse, and her clear embarrassment, tell him all he needs to know.

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. His face heats up, and his mind is flooded with the image of her, naked in the shower, fingering herself. “Sorry. Do you want me to leave for a while so you can—”

She shakes her head. “I can’t,” she whispers. “I need somebody else, I—” she swallows. “I know you want me to save myself, or whatever, but I can’t take it anymore. I need to have sex. I don’t even care who with, you can pick, for all I care. I just feel like I’m going to explode.”

Bellamy’s chest tightens, bile rises in his throat. “No. No, absolutely not.”

“Please, Bellamy,” Clarke whines. God, she sounds so desperate. His little sister, so horny, begging to be fucked. He doesn’t want her to suffer. Like he’s suffering. But the thought of her with someone else fills him with white hot rage.

He shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that. Nobody else gets to have you, got it? If I can’t have you, no one can.”

Clarke stares at him, eyes wide, pupils blown. Bellamy is breathing heavy, like he just ran a marathon. He shouldn’t have said that. But it’s out there now.

He groans, rubbing his face with his hand. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just—I can’t stand the thought of someone else touching you. Someone who won’t treat you right.”

Clarke bites her lip. “So you do it then,” she whispers.

Bellamy stares at her, throat constricted, heart fluttering. “Clarke—” he croaks.

“Please,” she says. “You’re who I really want anyway,” she says. “You said to save myself for someone who loves me. Who’s ever going to love me more than you do?”

“Clarke,” he groans. “We can’t. I’m your brother,” he reminds her, still trying to do the right thing. But his resolve is fading. And honestly? The fact that he’s her brother, that even the _thought_ of this is so fucking wrong, only turns him on more.

“Please,” Clarke says again. She fiddles with the straps on her pyjama top, and Bellamy watches, hypnotized, as she pushes the straps down, and lets her top slip down to her waist.

Bellamy licks his lips, eyes glued to her big, beautiful tits. He wants his hands on them so bad. Wants to know how they feel, how her body reacts to his touch. She keeps pushing the top down, over her hips, and with it, her pyjama shorts too, kicking them off, leaving her in just a pair of cute little white panties, covered in strawberries, a tiny white bow on the front. Something about the design is so innocent, and yet the visible wet patch on the front betrays her true thoughts.

He should shut his eyes, tell her no, this has gone far enough. But he can’t stop staring at her. And then she says, so sweetly, so nervously, “Please, Bellamy. Fuck me, please.” And he can’t refuse.

He reaches for her, closing the gap between them, crushing his mouth to hers, her tits to his chest. It’s only kissing, and they’ve kissed before, but it’s different this time. She’s almost naked in his arms, for one thing. But it’s also the way she gasps into his mouth, the way she greedily accepts his tongue, the way she clings to him for dear life. It’s so much more than an “innocent” kiss this time.

He leads her to the bed, laying her down gently in the middle of it. His hands slide up and down her sides while he kisses her, and then he breaks the kiss as he lets his hands inch further up, until he’s cupping her soft tits. He’s holding his breath, subconsciously almost, his thumbs grazing her nipples, squeezing her breasts in his hands, tentatively now, though he’s no less overcome with desire.

He’s still fully aware that this is his little sister. No amount of lust is ever going to make him forget that. But it doesn’t matter now. He wants her too much to care. In fact, he thinks it might make it even better, that they know each other so well, that they care about each other so much.

“You’re magnificent,” he breathes. His lips graze over her jaw, down her neck. Hands still on her tits, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, and is rewarded by the sound of her soft moan. He wants to make her make that sound over and over.

“Bellamy,” she says. “I’ve thought about this so much.”

“Me too,” Bellamy breathes, before latching onto her other nipple. Part of him wants to take his time, taste every part of her before he finally takes her virginity. Roan and Aurora won’t be home for hours, it’s not like they don’t have the time. And if this is the only chance they ever get to do this, well—shouldn’t he try to savour it?

And yet he’s also so desperate to have her. He’s been craving this for so long, and here she is, begging for him, though it’s the last thing either of them should want. If he doesn’t do it now, soon, he might either blow his load before he gets inside her, or talk himself out of it entirely.

He drags himself away from her breasts, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He makes eye contact with her as he crawls down towards her cunt, his heart pounding. Is he actually going to do this? Take off his sister’s panties? Lick her pussy? Take her virginity? The thought of being her first, her only, drives him insane with lust. The knowledge that what they’re doing is so wrong, on so many levels, has his cock throbbing, aching for friction.

He slips the tips of his index fingers into the sides of her panties, and slowly edges them down, focused on what he’s doing now. Clarke lifts her hips, allowing him to drag them down her thighs, so her cunt is bared to him, pink and wet and swollen.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He’s barely breathing. He’s never been so turned on in his life. He yanks her panties the rest of the way off, then looks up at her. She’s watching him, looking like she’s barely breathing herself. “Can I taste you?” he asks hoarsely. She nods.

She keeps her eyes on him as he lowers his head, until the last moment, when she squeezes her eyes shut and tilts her head back, as his tongue slips between her folds. A whimper escapes her as his tongue circles her clit, and Bellamy ruts against the bed involuntarily. As much as he loves the taste of her, he needs to be inside her, now.

He gets off the bed, heads for the drawer Clarke had cleared out for him when he first moved in, shucking his pants as he goes. He bought the condoms when he thought he was going to hook up with Roma, and he’s glad he did. The only thing worse than fucking his sister, would be getting his sister pregnant.

“What are you doing?” Clarke asks, sitting up. He holds up the condom to show her, and she nods in understanding. They’re really doing this. They’re going to cross a line that should never be crossed. But they’ve crossed so many already, Bellamy wonders if it even matters anymore.

He hurries back to the bed, where his naked sister is waiting for him. She eyes his erection, not hidden well by his boxers. She looks nervous for the first time. She’s seen his cock before, of course. But he wasn’t hard then, and he wasn’t about to put it inside her.

“You sure you want this?” he asks her. “There’s no taking it back. I’ll always be the one who took your virginity. Your brother,” he emphasises. “You’ll never be able to tell anyone about it.”

Clarke nods. “I want it,” she whispers. “I know it’s wrong, that what we’re doing is filthy and disgusting,” she swallows. “But maybe that only makes me want it more,” she admits. “I’ve never wanted anything so much.”

Bellamy nods, echoing her sentiments. He pulls his boxers off, cautiously gauging her reaction. She has that same expression on her face as last time, but now he recognises it for what it really is—guilty desire.

He shakily tears the condom wrapper open, and rolls the condom onto his hard cock. His hand comes to rest on Clarke’s waist, and then he leans forward, lowering her back down onto the pillow, keeping eye contact, their lips centimetres apart.

“I love you so much,” he whispers. He kisses her softly. He runs his hand up the underside of her thigh, bending her knee. He strokes her thigh, continuing to kiss her as he positions himself at her entrance.

He breaks the kiss as he pushes into her, noting the change in her breathing as he breaks the biggest taboo of all. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers, one hand on her thigh, the other on her waist.

“Oh my god,” Clarke whimpers as he stretches her out. She’s wet enough that it’s almost easy, despite her inexperience. And then he bottoms out, and his cock is wedged deep inside her cunt.

He looks down to where his body joins with hers, the sight of his thick cock, impaled inside her tight pussy, making his head spin. God, if this is wrong, then why does it feel so fucking good?

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” Clarke asks. He should be asking her that.

He nods. He’s got his fucking cock inside his sister’s cunt, and he’s never felt better than this. “Are you?”

Clarke nods. “It feels so good, Bell,” she murmurs. “Like I was meant to have you inside me.”

He thrusts into her, slow at first, letting her adjust to his size a little. Once he knows she can take it, he lets himself lose control a little, and then he’s really doing it, fucking his little sister. Her tits bounce with every thrust, and the room is filled with the sounds of their moans, and the filthy, wet sound of his cock ramming her pussy.

“Yes,” Clarke pants. “Yes, yes,” she moans. “I can feel it. Bell, oh my god. You’re gonna make me come. Yes, fuck me, fuck me.”

Bellamy lets out a strangled groan. The filthy words rolling off her tongue have him closer to the edge than he ought to be, and he can only be grateful she sounds like she’s almost there herself.

She digs her nails into his back as she comes, her orgasm rippling through her body as she clings to him, crying out desperately. He follows spectacularly, his whole body spasming, his orgasm heightened by the fact that he made his sister come, that he took her virginity, that he’s nothing but a perverted, incestuous creep.

Yet he stays wrapped up in her, keeps his cock inside her for a little while longer, holding her to his chest while he waits for the guilt to hit.

“How do you feel?” he murmurs, sliding out of her, soft now.

“Good,” Clarke hums happily. It seems she feels no guilt about what they’ve done either.

“Me too,” Bellamy says. He grazes his lips across her cheek. “We can’t do it again,” he adds. But even as he’s saying it, he’s already rationalising it. Why shouldn’t they keep going? They’ve already broken all the rules. And if it makes them feel good, makes them happy, who are they really hurting? As long as nobody finds out—is it really so wrong?

-

If Bellamy thought finally fucking his sister would get it out of his system, or dampen his desire for her in any way, he’s sorely mistaken. He wakes up with her, as usual, and all he wants to do is repeat last night’s events. Instead, he settles for a kiss, lingering and hungry, and then they both hurry to get up and get dressed, lest their mother find them naked together.

He’s on edge all day, worse than usual. He has the day off work, and being a Sunday, Clarke doesn’t have school, but their mom and Roan come and go at odd times, so even though Bellamy yearns to put his mouth on her, he doesn’t dare. But he’s already thinking about the next time. Heart thrumming, wondering when he’ll get his sister alone again so he can do wicked, dirty things to her.

“I want you so much,” he whispers to her, pressing his chest against her back as she makes her lunch, his arms circling around her. He heard Roan leave the house a few minutes ago. He has no idea how long Roan will be gone for, so he can’t take any risks, but talking is okay. “I need to have you again.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t,” Clarke says.

“I don’t care anymore,” he says. “I want you, I only want you. I can’t keep denying it.”

Clarke’s breath hitches. “Now?”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy sighs. “It’s too risky. We need to be sure no one will be home.”

“What about tonight? When everyone’s asleep?”

“Someone might hear. There’s no way to be certain they’re really asleep.”

Clarke spins in his arms so she’s facing him, locked in his arms against the counter. “Why are you teasing me?” she whines.

Bellamy smirks. “I can tease you much worse than this,” he threatens. He drops a hand between her legs, strokes her with his thumb, ghosts his lips over hers, then pulls away.

She whimpers. “When?”

“Mom’s working tomorrow night,” Bellamy says. “Roan will probably go out, he always does.”

“I can’t wait that long.”

“Me either,” Bellamy agrees. “But we have to.”

It’s a long and torturous couple of days, filled with longing looks and teasing touches, but they make it to Monday night, both tense, praying that they’ll be left alone so they can finally unravel.

Clarke’s in her room, working on homework, while Bellamy sits on the couch at the coffee table, going over his plans for his next tutoring session, when Roan comes into the living room, jacket and shoes on. Bellamy tries to keep his excitement hidden.

“You’re going out?” he asks, nonchalant as possible.

“Yeah,” Roan says.

“When will you be back?”

Roan raises an eyebrow. “Keeping tabs on me?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Just a question.”

“I don’t know,” Roan says. “Late or not at all probably. Got to make the most of my last week here.”

Bellamy nods, keeping his face impassive. Roan nods back, then makes his exit. Bellamy counts to five, slowly, before he races to Clarke’s room. She looks up when he pauses in the doorway.

He swallows. “Roan’s gone.”

Clarke flies up from her chair, and she’s in his arms in an instant, throwing her arms around his neck. He lifts her off the ground and her legs circle around his waist, while they kiss each other like two people gasping for air after holding their breath for too long.

Though he has every intention of taking his time with her this time, there’s a sense of urgency that consumes him, and he can’t restrain himself. He peels off her clothes, and she helps him with his, and she’s the one to get the condom this time, having noted where he keeps them. She rolls it onto his cock, and the sight of her tiny hands on his cock almost makes him come right then.

He grabs her, flips her over so he’s on top of her, rams his cock into her dripping pussy like a man possessed. Clarke is so vocal, he’s thankful they didn’t try to do this while their mom and Roan were home. And he wouldn’t want her to be quiet. Her moans of pleasure, the way she desperately says his name, is like music to his ears. And he’s not exactly quiet himself.

He gets to make her come again. And he has the second best orgasm of his life, second only to the one he had while inside her last time. And he knows they won’t stop this, not while it feels this good. The only thing that can keep him from her now, is if she tells him she doesn’t want him anymore, doesn’t love him anymore. And if they way she gazes up at him, with stars in her eyes, is any indication, that isn’t going to happen any time soon.

-

Jake calls Clarke every week. She spends an hour or so on the phone with him, catching him up with what’s been happening in her life, and he does the same with her. Bellamy himself has only spoken to Jake once since that first call. He checked in a month ago, and the conversation was stilted and awkward, and Bellamy held back the forgiveness he wanted to give him. As much as he still craves some kind of father figure in his life, he fears it might be too late with Jake.

Especially now. Last time Jake called him, Bellamy was repressing his feelings, sure he was just horny, and they would pass. Now, when Jake calls him on Thursday evening, after his talk with Clarke, Bellamy has already fucked his sister three times. It’s all he could think about while Clarke was on the phone with her dad.

And now Jake’s name is popping up on his phone screen, and Bellamy’s stomach is in knots, sure Jake will somehow be able to tell from his voice that he fucked his daughter.

Tempted as he is to ignore the call, Bellamy pauses his video game and hits the answer button. “Hey,” he answers. Does his voice sound strange? His heart is beating too fast.

“Bellamy,” Jake says jovially, after a short delay. “Sorry I haven’t checked in in a while.”

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says.

“How are you?” Jake asks, performing the niceties, though Bellamy knows he’s really only calling about Clarke. “How’s college?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Bellamy says. “I’m doing really well.”

“That’s good,” Jake says. “And—how’s Clarke? She sounds good. She said you’re taking good care of her.”

Bellamy pinches the bridge of his nose, swallowing thickly. “I am,” he manages to choke out. He’s taking care of her alright. Of all her needs.

“Have you had to beat up any teenage boys yet?” Jake jokes. “Does she seem interested in dating?”

“No, and, uh—no,” Bellamy says. It’s the truth. As close to the truth as he can get. “She’s focused on school.”

“Good,” Jake says, breathing a sigh of relief. Clarke appears in the room, in sweatpants and an oversized sweater. She curls up on the couch next to him, snuggling into his side. “Thank you for looking out for her,” Jake says. Bellamy’s heart squeezes. “You’ve grown up to be such a good man, Bellamy. I’m so proud of you.”

Bellamy doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Such words of affirmation from Jake should make him happy, and they do, to some extent. But Jake doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know what Bellamy’s done, that he’s corrupted his little girl. Part of Bellamy wants to blurt it out. _I fucked her. I fucked my own sister, your precious little princess. Are you proud now? Do you still think I’m a good man?_

“Thanks,” he mutters instead.

“You should come and visit when I get back,” Jake says. “I’d love to see you.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. He glances at Clarke. He’s only got four more months with her. “Yeah.”

-

Roan’s finally leaving. He’s having lunch with some of his college friends, and then Bellamy is driving him to the airport this afternoon. His suitcases are by the door, Bellamy’s room vacated.

Bellamy is mostly relieved about Roan’s departure. He finally gets his room back, for one thing. And it means much less chance of him and Clarke being caught. Aurora’s schedule is much easier to predict. Plus, all Roan’s incest jokes were starting to hit too close to home.

It’s after one now, and Clarke is still in bed. Worn out, probably, from being fucked all night while Roan and Aurora were both out again. She pads into the living room now, where Bellamy has found the time to read for pleasure. He hardly does that anymore.

She was naked when he left her, but now she’s just wearing one of his shirts. His heart lodges in his throat as she walks over and sits in his lap. He instinctively bundles her up in his arms.

“What are you wearing?” he whispers, lips against her ear, hand sliding between her legs.

“It’s yours,” she says.

“I know,” he replies. His fingers meet her wet slit. “And no panties?” he half chokes.

“The laundry hasn’t been done.”

“Uh huh.” He kisses her. “You know, _you_ could do the laundry.”

“I don’t know how to use the washing machine.”

He pulls his head back. “You don’t know how to use the washing machine? Clarke, really?”

“What?” she says defensively. “Dad has a maid who does the laundry.”

“Of course he does,” Bellamy huffs, rolling his eyes. He scoops Clarke up and drops her on her feet. She pouts indignantly. “Come on,” he says.

“What are we doing?”

“Learning how to use a washing machine.”

He grabs her hand and drags her to the laundry, where her basket of dirty clothes is sitting. He drops her hand, and she turns to him, arms folded, waiting for instruction.

“First step, put the clothes in the machine,” Bellamy instructs. Clarke screws up her nose, but she does as he says, opening the lid of the top loader, then reaches down to the basket to grab armfuls of clothes and tosses them into the machine. The hem of his t-shirt rides up every time she bends down, revealing the bottom of her ass cheeks, and Bellamy watches, entranced.

“Aren’t I supposed to like… separate them or something?” Clarke asks, reaching the bottom of the basket. “I’ve heard that’s a thing.”

“That’s just a waste of water and energy,” Bellamy scoffs. “They’ll be fine. Okay, now you put the detergent in.”

Clarke spots it on the high shelf behind the machine, and Bellamy’s eyes drop to her ass again, his shirt riding up as she reaches for the detergent. It’s just out of her reach—he must have put it on the wrong shelf last time he used it— so he steps up behind her, placing on hand on her back as he reaches over her with the other.

“I’ve got it,” he says. He grabs it, and Clarke turns, all pressed up against him, caught between him and the washing machine. She blinks up at him with her wide, blue eyes, and Bellamy wonders why the fuck he’s teaching her to do laundry, when they’re home alone and she’s wearing nothing but his t-shirt.

He drops the detergent, slams the lid of the washing machine down, then hoists Clarke onto it, his mouth hot on hers.

“Is this step three?” she asks breathlessly.

“Something like that.”

He drops his hands to her thighs, spreading her legs as he slides his hands up towards her cunt. He pushes up her shirt so he can see her pussy, and he spreads her lips with his fingers, admiring her swollen clit, her dripping arousal. No wonder she was annoyed when he said he wanted to do laundry.

He drops to his knees, and Clarke shimmies forward so she’s perched right on the edge, and her cunt is at his eye level. He looks up at her. He presses a kiss to her inner thigh, and then another, a little higher. He hasn’t done this yet—eaten her out properly. Gotten her off with just his tongue.

He kisses her slit, and then slides his tongue between her folds. Clarke’s fingers sink into his hair. Bellamy flicks her clit with his tongue, licks around it, over it, her fingers tightening on his hair. He hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, giving him better access to her entrance. He flattens his tongue, licking the length of her slit, then pushes his tongue inside her, as deep as he can go, his nose disappearing into her folds.

Clarke writhes against him, pulling his hair so hard it hurts, moaning, begging him to keep going, as though he has any intention of stopping.

That is, until a voice that doesn’t belong to either of them jolts him out of his lustful delirium.

“I fucking knew it,” Roan says.

Clarke squeals, and Bellamy whips his head up. Clarke yanks the shirt down to cover herself. Bellamy stares at Roan’s smirking face, shocked, terrified. There’s no hiding what they were doing. He had his face buried in his sister’s cunt—his face is still wet with her arousal. He feels like he might throw up.

“Roan,” he says, standing up. He sounds more collected than he feels. He keeps his hand on Clarke’s thigh, if only to try to keep her calm. She looks to be on the verge of tears. “It’s not—we’re not—it’s not what it looks like.”

“Looks a lot like incest to me,” Roan says. “Is that not what it is?”

“I—” Bellamy starts, but there’s no good way to finish the sentence. To hear the word said out loud. _Incest_. It sounds so disgusting, so dirty. It doesn’t feel like that, when they’re doing it.

“I need you to take me to the airport,” Roan says. “Now.”

“Are you going to—”

“We can talk about it on the way.”

Bellamy swallows. He gives Roan a nod, and glances back at Clarke. Her face is red, and she won’t look at Roan, but she reluctantly meets Bellamy’s eye. He doesn’t want to leave her, not like this, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. He tries to convey with a look that everything is going to be okay, even though he can’t possibly know that.

He meets Roan at the car, his sense of dread a deadweight in his stomach. Roan gets into the passenger seat silently, and Bellamy starts the car. They’re both silent for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Bellamy can’t take it anymore, and he’s the first to speak.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he says, his voice sounding weak and pathetic.

Roan snorts. “I’m not a snitch,” he says. “Like I said, I just knew you were a dirty fucking pervert. You just give off that vibe.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy scoffs. “So what? Are you going to blackmail me or something?”

“I could,” Roan muses. “Maybe I would if I was staying. But I won’t. But you’ve got to know you can’t keep it up. Fucking your own sister—and she’s sixteen, mind you. To think you were worried about _me_. What was that? Jealousy.”

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a sick fuck.”

Bellamy doesn’t disagree. “You really won’t tell?” he says.

“I won’t tell,” Roan promises. Bellamy is almost relieved. Still, someone knowing, even if that someone assures him they’ll keep it a secret, isn’t great for him.

“I’ll stop,” Bellamy says.

Roan shakes his head. “No, you won’t,” he says. And he’s right.

-

It’s lonely in his own bed. He’s grown so used to having Clarke next to him, and it feels so empty without her. He wishes he could creep into her room without worrying about his mom catching him and wondering why he’s not sleeping in his own bed. He’d made such a big deal about it when Roan first moved in, he has to act like he’s happy to have his room back.

His stomach lurches unpleasantly when he wakes up alone, and when he pads out to the kitchen, Clarke is already up, sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal.

“Hey,” Bellamy says. He glances around to make sure they’re alone, before he plants a kiss on the top of her head, stroking her hair at the same time. “You’re up early.”

“I didn’t sleep that well,” Clarke confesses.

“Me either,” Bellamy sighs. He slides into the chair perpendicular to hers, close as he can get to her. He doesn’t know if their mom is up already and out and about, or whether she’s still in bed, but either way, he doesn’t dare do anything more dramatic than take her hand under the table. He rubs circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

“I wish we could be together,” Clarke whispers, so earnest and vulnerable it makes his heart break.

“We are together,” he tells her. “We’re still in the same house, aren’t we? We’ve still got months left together.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Clarke says. “I mean—I wish we didn’t have to hide. I wish you weren’t my brother. I wish I could be your girlfriend.”

Bellamy swallows. Her words hurt. Partly because he wants that too, wants to be her boyfriend, and he knows it can never be. But partly because he doesn’t like hearing her say she doesn’t want him to be her brother. He loves being her brother. He just wishes it was okay to be both.

But he can’t be, not really, and he doesn’t get to choose. So they have to keep their relationship a secret.

“What if—” he starts, Clarke meets his eye, waiting expectantly for him to continue. He chews his lip, wondering if he’s being crazy. “What if we… took a little trip, next weekend? We could tell Mom I’m taking you to check out some college campuses. But really, we’ll just check into a bed and breakfast somewhere, somewhere where nobody knows we’re siblings. We could act like a proper couple, get to sleep in the same bed again…”

Clarke nods eagerly. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” He’s excited now too, now that he knows she’s into it. “I’ll find somewhere and book it today.”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees.

He almost kisses her then, unable to resist her bright smile. But he hears Aurora walk into the room behind him, and he quickly drops Clarke’s hand. Clarke focuses on her cereal again.

“Morning, Mom,” he says casually, standing up. “You want me to get you some breakfast?”

Aurora looks at him suspiciously. “Why are you two up so early? And why are you offering to make me breakfast?”

“Just being a good son,” Bellamy shrugs.

-

Aurora believes the lie easily. Even gives them money for gas and a cheap motel. Of course, Bellamy lashed out a little more than that, but he takes the money anyway, with only a small amount of guilt. If their mom knew what she was really funding… Bellamy doesn’t want to think about it.

The bed and breakfast Bellamy booked is two hours away—that’s far enough, right? Close enough not to waste all their time driving there and back, but far enough away that they’ll be strangers to anyone they come across.

They’re cagey as they leave town. Clarke’s shoulders are stiff, her back straighter than he’s ever seen it, and she twists her fingers in her lap nervously. Bellamy gets his own anxiety out by drumming on the steering wheel with his fingers, and glancing in the rearview mirror far too often, as if he’s afraid someone might be tailing them. When he can’t see buildings in it any longer, he reaches over, and takes Clarke’s hand from her lap, interlocking her fingers with his.

She breathes out slowly, relaxing. It’s just the two of them now. No judgement.

The bed and breakfast is a cute, picturesque little place off the main highway. They grab their bags out of the trunk and head inside to check in, where they’re met with a middle-aged woman at a desk.

“Welcome,” she says brightly. “Checking in?”

Bellamy nods. “Bellamy Blake?” he offers. He reaches out a hand to Clarke, which she takes. “My girlfriend, Clarke,” he says, glancing at her. His heart skips a beat as he says the word, and Clarke presses herself to his side.

They both look back to the receptionist, and part of Bellamy is sure she’s going to call them out, call the police on him. Even if she can’t tell they’re related, surely she can tell Clarke isn’t even seventeen. But she just smiles.

“Lovely,” she says. “You’re in room three, upstairs,” she says. “Here’s your key. Dinner is served from five thirty until ten. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Bellamy takes the key from her, nodding with a smile. “Thanks.”

They start up the stairs, straight-faced at first, but Bellamy can feel Clarke’s excited energy radiating off her, and he glances at her unable to keep the smile from his face. She giggles. He squeezes her hand, a laugh tumbling out of him. He feels giddy. They’re here, together, and no one knows they’re siblings. They pulled it off.

They reach their room, and Bellamy unlocks the door with the ornate silver key, then lets Clarke inside first. She drops her bag, gazing around the room happily, but Bellamy barely notices the furnishings—he’s too busy admiring her.

“What do you think?” she asks, turning back to him.

“Perfect,” he tells her. He drops his bag. She beams. He reaches out a hand for her. “Come here,” he says, his voice low.

Clarke takes his hand and lets him pull her towards him, until their lips are almost touching.

“I liked you calling me your girlfriend,” Clarke whispers, just before he kisses her. His hands grip her waist, burning through her clothes. They just got here, and maybe they should take the opportunity to spend the afternoon exploring together, holding hands and just generally acting like an obnoxiously in love couple. But he wants her now, and he thinks he’s tuned into her body language enough by now to know she wants him too.

“You want to break in the room?” Bellamy murmurs, brushing his lips against hers. Clarke nods, clutching the front of his shirt in her hands.

“But, um—” She steps away from him. “Just, wait a second, okay?” She grabs her bag from the floor. “I’ll be one second. Just—get undressed.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her, bemused, watching her as she backs towards the bathroom. “Okay,” he says.

She smiles at him to show him nothing’s wrong, then disappears into the bathroom. Bellamy shucks his shirt, shoes, socks, and pants, electing to keep his underwear on for now. He’s not sure _exactly_ what she’s doing, or how long she’ll be.

He sits on the end of the bed, tapping his foot nervously. He keeps glancing at the door, almost as nervous now as he was on the drive here. Perhaps she never wanted any of this at all and she’s climbed out the window to escape.

“Okay, I’m coming out,” she eventually calls. “Don’t laugh.”

“Okay,” Bellamy calls back. He watches the bathroom door. She wrenches it open, and steps back out into the bedroom. Laughter is far from his immediate reaction.

His breath catches as he takes her in, eyes roving over her. She’s got on an elaborate black lingerie set, with lace and straps across her stomach, and more lace attempting to cover her tits and pussy. Bellamy is lost for words for a moment, admiring in his little sister wearing that, looking so sexy, even though her face betrays her anxiety about the possibility of him not liking it.

“Is it okay?” she asks, looking down.

Bellamy nods. “Did you buy that just for me?” he asks, voice thick and hoarse. Clarke nods shyly. “Come here,” he says, and Clarke hurries over to him.

He rubs her sides, still in awe of her little outfit. God, she dressed up for him. He’s never once found her unattractive, but in this, he wants to devour her whole. He slides his hands around behind her, over her ass, bare but for a thin string between her cheeks. He groans out loud.

“You look so sexy,” he tells her. “Makes me want to do naughty things to you,” he says.

“Good,” Clarke breathes.

Bellamy pulls her down, guiding her onto his lap so she’s straddling him, her blonde hair falling around their faces as she kisses him. He keeps one hand on her ass, one on her lower back, holding her steady as she presses her cunt against his erection through their underwear. She grinds against him, needy and desperate.

“Fuck me,” she pants. “I’m so wet for you.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy growls. “Wet for your brother’s cock, are you?” he says. “Aching for it in your empty pussy?”

She whimpers. “I thought you weren’t my brother this weekend,” she says breathlessly.

“I’m still your brother,” Bellamy tells her. “And I’m your lover. I’m both,” he says. “Doesn’t it turn you on to know that?”

Clarke nods emphatically. “Yes,” she admits. “We’re going to hell, aren’t we?”

“If there is one, most definitely,” Bellamy says. “But at least we’ll be there together.”

Clarke nods again, kissing him messily. Bellamy runs his hands up her back to unclip the back of her lingerie. He tugs on the straps, peeling the lace away from her breasts. He pushes the rest of it down to her hips, then slides his hand beneath the lace covering her pussy, his fingers slipping into her folds. She wasn’t lying when she said she was wet.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whines. Her tits jiggle as she thrusts her hips, humping his cock. He holds in a moan.

He removes his hand from her panties, then grips her waist so he can flip her over onto the bed. Much as he likes having her tits bounce in his face, he much prefers to be on top of her. He drags her flimsy lingerie down her thighs, then her over her calves and ankles, removing it entirely.

He feels just as desperate for her as he was the first time. Wants to be inside her _now_ , fuck her hard, just how she likes it. But instead, he pauses. Takes a deep breath. Lets himself drink her in, lying there, waiting for him, flushed and naked, her lips and her cunt red and swollen. There’s no need to rush here. They have plenty of time. All night, with no one to disturb them, or catch them in the act.

Bellamy pulls off his boxers, then climbs onto the bed on top of her. He kisses her slow and deep, then drags his lips down her jaw to her neck, achingly slow. He sucks the skin at her shoulder between his teeth, marking her for later, like he used to do with his girlfriend when he was a teenager. He brings his hand between her legs as he kisses her breasts, pushes his fingers into her, pumping them lazily as he lavishes her tits with his tongue.

She’s mostly silent, only a few soft moans, but her grip on his arm is tight, her breathing shallow, her pussy clenching around his fingers tightly. He teases her like that, with his fingers and his tongue, for as long as he can muster. He keeps her on the edge until she’s writhing desperately, moaning, begging him to let her come.

“Not yet,” he says. “We have time.” She whines pathetically, and truthfully, though he’s had fun teasing her, he doesn’t know how much longer he can last himself. He gets up off the bed and grabs a condom from his bag, hastily putting it on.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, kissing her.

“I want you,” she says. “I want you to fuck me. I want your cock.”

“Tell me how much you want it,” he says. “Tell me how much you want your brother’s cock inside you.”

“I want it so bad, Bell,” she says. “Please. Want my brother’s big cock in my pussy.”

He groans. He presses the head of his cock against her slit, sliding against her, but not into her quite yet. “Fuck, Clarke,” he says. “Makes me crazy to hear you talk like that.”

“I want you to say it too,” Clarke says breathily.

“I want you,” he says. He pushes his cock into her, her knees locking around him. “Love fucking my baby sister.” It’s sick, the way he gets off on it, on reminding her, and himself, how wrong this is.

Somehow, he manages to keep a slow and steady pace, driving her back towards her peak. He’s sure that if there’s anyone in the room next to them, they’ll have no doubts about what they’re doing now. Clarke’s cries of pleasure are far from quiet. As long as they didn’t hear their murmured words before, he doesn’t care. He wants everyone here to know how good he can make her feel.

He feels her cunt fluttering around him as she comes, and somehow, he lasts even longer than that, and her orgasm turns into a second, and _that’s_ when he can’t hold back any longer, and he comes with her, his cock inside her as deep as it will go.

He collapses to the bed beside her, panting. She reaches for his hand, sliding her tiny fingers between his much larger ones. She curls up to his side, kissing his shoulder.

“I wish we could be like this forever,” she whispers.

“Naked and satisfied?”

“Free,” she says. “Free to be together. Really together. I love you so much. Not just as a brother.”

“I know,” Bellamy says. “I love you too. But—maybe it will pass.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I’m never going to love anyone else like I love you.”

Bellamy swallows. It’s heart-warming and soul-shattering at the same time. It’s selfish that he wants her to feel like that. He should want her to move on, find someone she can actually have a relationship with, a marriage, a house, kids. All she’ll get with him are secrets, lies, desperate, passionate, but fleeting encounters, and a lifetime of yearning. Yet he can’t bring himself to wish anything else for her, or for himself.

He pulls her into his arms. “Maybe we could run away,” he says. “Move to another country. Change our names, move into a little house together. Start over. No one would ever have to know we’re brother and sister.”

“You wouldn’t be able to teach,” Clarke points out. And she’s right. But he thinks maybe it would be worth it.

“I’ll do something else instead,” he says. “I’ll be a farmer. I like being outdoors.”

“And we’ll have a dog, and three kids,” Clarke says. His heart constricts at that, and his cock throbs. The thought of his sister pregnant with his baby is so enticing, he doesn’t even think about how the kids would probably be fucked up in some way.

“Sounds perfect,” Bellamy says. A perfect fantasy, that he’ll let himself dream about for now. No sense in ruining the weekend with harsh truths. He’ll save those for when she’s gone again in four months. Maybe distance will give him some perspective.

But most likely, he’ll spend the rest of his life longing for something he can never have.


End file.
